


lightning strikes (again, again)

by Spacedog



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes can wield Mjolnir, Identity Porn, Loki & Thor Friendship (Marvel), M/M, Major Character Disappearance, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 11:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacedog/pseuds/Spacedog
Summary: Living in Brooklyn for the first time in the new century is hard, especially without Bucky. It becomes even harder when, in the aftermath of a Loki-engineered spectacle, Thor and Mjolnir go missing. It becomes even harder still when a new Thor—not the Odinson, not Loki’s brother, but somehow, not unfamiliar to Steve—arrives on the scene, strong and silent and everything that Steve finds himself drawn to.Luckily, Steve’s fond of the hard times. And the men who come with it.(or: thor is gone. long live thor.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 51
Kudos: 160
Collections: Captain America Big Bang 2019 | cabigbang





	1. Chapter 1

**\---**

After four years of running, fighting, chasing, reaching, and missing, Steve Rogers is finally back in New York.

In the time since that fateful fight on the causeway, in the time since those fateful five words—_Who the hell is Bucky?_—split his world apart, Steve Rogers has lived through the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., a pair of superpowered Sokovian twins, an evil Starkbot uprising, and countless Hydra bases that he’s _personally _razed to the ground. It’s been non-stop. It’s been exhausting. And all of it—well, almost all of it—has been against the backdrop of one thing, one goal: finding Bucky and bringing him home.

So, when he has it on good intel that James Buchanan Barnes—the man who Steve has been chasing, the man who Steve has been searching for, the man who hasn’t left Steve’s thoughts for four years alive and seventy years on ice—has returned to New York, Steve doesn’t hesitate to drop everything and move back to New York, back _home. _

**\---**

As soon as he’s back in New York, permanently, this time, Steve realizes—he’s needed this.

And as much as he’s recognized that he can’t long for the home of seventy years ago, as much as he’s recognized that white-picket-fence stability and stillness has never been his dream, Steve has wanted to return home for a long, long time.

He’s happier in New York, even when he _isn’t _thinking about Bucky being in the same city—maybe even the same borough—as him. Just having a place to return to after long missions, just having a bed to call his own, just returning to his favorite deli and butcher shop and bookstore and bakery after seventy years and however many overseas assignments in between has done wonders for his mental health.

Is he lonely? Of course. There’s a loneliness and a longing that even returning to the city won’t ever solve. But it’s tempered, manageable, even, now that Steve’s back where his heart knows he belongs.

All he’s waiting for now is Bucky, back in the city _and _back in his life, to _really _make the city his home once more.

**\---**

It’s in the middle of a particularly-nice summer day that Steve gets a red alert message on his phone. In between sips of a big black-and-white milkshake, Steve—still, as always, keeping an eye out for Bucky, for the familiar set of those shoulders, for the familiar way he moves, the familiar chestnut-brown of his hair—unpockets his phone, taking in the brief message in its full.

_LOKI IN MIDTOWN, _it says, bold black stark against the gray banner currently taking up a fourth of the screen_. BRYANT PARK, MAIN LAWN. _

Steve sighs, trashing the rest of his milkshake with only a _little _bit of attitude. He’d _just _bought that milkshake, too. Just as quick as he’d gotten the text message, Steve springs into action, tapping out a terse response on his phone as he moves, grabbing his tac suit out of his backpack as he does.

_On my way. ETA seven minutes. _

**\---**

Steve makes it in five.

Suiting up slows him down, but at a supersoldier’s pace, he’s able to make it to Bryant Park just as Natasha and Thor arrive. There’s a serendipity about it that makes the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up, but there’s no time to ruminate on it. Not when Loki is terrorizing people with transformation magic on their lunch breaks.

Bryant Park is in chaos. Patience and Fortitude have been willed to life, and, kitten-like, are batting around an abandoned electric scooter like it’s a twist-tie lying on a kitchen floor. Several well-dressed animals desperately try to operate their Starkphones without crushing them. The lawn has a crunchy texture to it that Steve doesn’t want to think about.

All in all, it’s not the worst thing Loki has done.

Which makes Steve wonder what he’s _really _planning. 

“Barton’s in the wings, and Sam’s on his way. How do you wanna run this, Cap?” Romanov asks. 

“You and Sam corral the lions. They’re being playful now, but we don’t want that changing. Thor and I will take on Loki.”

“Roger that. Good luck,” Natasha says, before breaking out into a sprint, hoping to catch the cats’ attentions.

“Loki!” Thor yells, as soon as he’s sure Natasha and any lingering civilians have left the area. Loki looks up from his most recent act of malevolent mischief—magically destroying one subway entrance, and warping the other—to grin up at Thor and Steve his expression carrying little surprise, but _much _excitement. 

“You’ve finally made it, brother!” Loki laughs, his voice carrying loud and clear, even in spite of the honk of building traffic blocks away. “And how wonderful. You’ve brought your _friend!_”

“Brother,” Thor says, his voice level and stern, equal parts disciplinarian older brother and warrior recognizing the potential for an explosive threat. “Be your actions out of a need for attention or out of boredom, they are malicious in their torment of these mortals. You have me here. End this, now.” 

“Why, malicious? _Me?_” Loki asks, sarcastically, blasting the windows of the Byrant Park Grill as he does so. “Now, why would I ever be _malicious, _brother?”

Thor levels a look at his brother, raising his hammer as he does. “Stop, now, brother. You’ve had your fun. Either retreat or return home with me peacefully.”

“Oh, Thor, you _truly _don’t know me, do you?” Loki asks, “I mean, really, _I’ve had my fun? _Dear brother, I haven’t even yet _begun_.”

And with that, Loki begins to shimmer, dissipating into light with a mirthfully malicious cackle.

Steve and Thor both jump into a battle formation, shoulder-to-shoulder, back-to-back. The world is eerily-still around them, the regular bustle of Bryant Park reduced down to ominous silence. For a second, Steve thinks that he can hear Thor breathing, that’s how quiet the city has become. 

“Captain,” Thor murmurs, low, almost whisper-like, not so much breaking the silence, but parting it, like waves, like the wind. “Snakes aren’t…_common…_in New York City, are they?”

“Not as long as I’ve been living here,” Steve replies, suspiciously.

“Oh,” is all Thor says, and he lunges, sending Steve spinning to keep up. Just as Thor moves to grab the snake, it rapidly grows in size, sinking its now finger-sized fangs into Thor’s thigh.

Thor screams in pain, and he tries to grab the snake by its head, but it twists, shrinking to the size of a blade of grass, and quickly-evading his grasp. 

“You always fall for that, don’t you, brother?” the snake laughs, transforming back into a familiar humanoid shape. “Don’t worry, the venom I’ve injected you this time with will only make moving much, _much_ more painful. We love a fair fight, don’t we?” 

As Thor struggles to get his bearings, Steve jumps to the offense. Loki, temporarily distracted by his admiration of his own work, reacts just a few moments too-slowly when Steve charges him, quick as he can, uppercutting Loki in his smug little jaw. It doesn’t know him down, but it knocks the smirk off his face, at the very least.

“Stay back, Captain,” Loki growls, as Steve forces his shield against Loki. Though he is only armed with a staff—different from the one with the tesseract in it, though far more-ornate—Loki is thrusting back at Steve with a strength belied by his lanky form. Steve, though, does not budge, pushing his full weight against his shield, pressing its sharp, sharp edge against Loki’s diaphragm.

“Leave my _fucking _city, Loki,” Steve growls back, his shield a threat, a promise. Loki barks out a wheezy little laugh, his tone mocking and incredulous. For a moment, the weight of Loki resisting under Steve’s shield flags, and Steve, foolishly, thinks he’s made progress. But just as quickly as Loki shifted forms, he moves, and Steve suddenly feels a deep, sharp pain radiating through his entire left side. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, not after Bucky. But being stabbed is never fun. Especially when he might _also _have been poisoned, in the same act. 

“Neither you nor any mortal has command over me, Captain,” Loki growls, as he pulls out of Steve’s hold. “Remember that.” 

“Cap!” Natasha yells through the comms. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Natasha, sprinting down from library steps, seemingly—hopefully—having quelled the stone cats that have so-suddenly turned alive.

“I’m fine!” Steve yells, but he knows that won’t stop her. “Stay with Sam!”

The mission—not an easy one, not by any means, but not a world-ending event—has quickly, somehow, gone completely to shit. 

“That’s enough, Loki,” Thor growls, through grit teeth. He grabs Loki, practically by the hair, and jerks him aside. He looks like he is in tremendous pain, but he maintains his hold on Loki, anyway, his grip ironclad as his will. “We’re going back to Asgard if I have to drag you through all nine realms.”

“Not in your state, brother,” Loki says, wincing despite himself, in Thor’s grip. God though he may be, stronger than any mortal and powerful as thunder itself, it is clear on Thor’s face that he knows what Loki says is true. But that doesn’t stop him from raising his hammer with his free hand, trying to summon the energy to pierce the barrier between worlds.

Loki, though, knows his brother. And he knows, now, that he has the upper hand.

The_ second _Thor shifts his focus from Loki to getting off the ground, Loki thrashes, just long enough to wiggle out of Thor’s grip and tumbling back onto the grass below. Just as quick as Thor manages to channel lightning against him, Loki has his staff in hand, and, with a burst of green light that nearly blinds Steve, he blasts Thor, blue-white sparks of lightning no match against whatever Loki has done.

The residual heat from the two blasts leaves a singed crater in its wake. And where Thor once stood, weakened, but godlike all the same, is nothing. Not even Mjolnir is left.

And Loki, breathing heavily, grins. 

“Where is he?” Steve grits, clutching his side tightly, hoping that he’s putting just enough pressure on the wound to let the serum start to work its magic. "Did you—"

“Of course, I wouldn’t kill him,” Loki says, genuinely looking offended at the suggestion. Trickster god and all-around maniac he might have been, or not, apparently, Loki still had something approximating a code of ethics. “He’s my _brother. _Now. What _else _I might have done to him—now. That. _That’s _the question.” 

“Cut the bullshit, Loki. What did you do to Thor?” Natasha asks, guns trained on Loki. Steve, Natasha, and Loki all know guns won’t do much to stop a god. Not much permanent work, anyway.

As if emphasizing that, as if _taunting _Steve and Natasha with such knowledge, Loki grins, Cheshire-like. “Come, now. Why would I ever tell? That spoils half the fun.”

Steve tries to catch him, throwing his shield with enough force to knock out a regular human, but even his supersoldier efforts aren’t fast enough, not when he’s still cradling a stab wound. In a blink, Loki disappears, dissipating into nothing but fog and a soft green blip of light. As the shield bounces back to him, with one less member on the team and Loki still at large, Steve manages a single, frustrated exclamation: 

“Fuck!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's my collab with [whatthefoucault](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefoucault) and [2jarsofsmth](https://twitter.com/2jarsofsmth) for the captain america big bang!! i've been very, very into this idea for a very, very long while, so i'm glad to have finally been able to work on it with such a great team.
> 
> thank you to [em](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmanperfectsoldier) and [scarlett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepinupchemist/pseuds/thepinupchemist) for giving this work the loving beta reader work it deeply, deeply needed, as well as to sami and felix for being such great collaborators, artists, and friends throughout this entire ordeal. i couldn't have made this a successful project without the care and dedication from all of you, so thank you. 
> 
> steve's milkshake is probably from [the shake shack closest to bryant park, on 8th avenue](https://www.shakeshack.com/food-and-drink/). when i was last in new york i got stood up for a lunch date, so i got myself a chicken dog and a black and white shake and a couple fries and i had a fantastic little lunch date by damn self. it was wonderful. 
> 
> fic title is from [klaus nomi's cover of "lightning strikes"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gma5IUNMTn0).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lightning strikes--

“Well, the good news is he didn’t hit any vital organs when he stabbed you. If you can consider that good news.”

Steve grimaces. The look at the S.H.I.E.L.D. doctor throws him is withering. Or, it would be, if Steve didn’t have bigger problems to worry about. He’s laid out on a stretcher in what he can only describe as a miniature Helicarrier—oxymoronic as the phrase might be—his stab wound on full display. It already feels a lot better. Not that better means much, considering that things can _only _look up, after one gets stabbed. 

“Good news means there’s gotta be _bad _news,” Steve says, wincing a little bit as he does so. “So. What’s the bad news, doc?”

The doctor sends him a _look._ She sighs. “Well, it’s not bad news per se. Your vitals are normal, we’re not getting back that it was laced with anything, and you haven’t lost too much blood. Better yet, it looks like the serum is already taking care of the heavy work of fixing you up. But that said, you’re gonna need stitches.”

Steve sighs. “Which you can’t sedate me for. Right.”

“I’m assuming you know the drill?”

“Not the first time I’ve been stabbed,” Steve says, a little jokingly. He shifts to give the doctor a better angle, and he grits his teeth, reminding himself that as much as it hurts to get sewn back up, it hurt even more to get _made _in the first place.

And fucked-up as it may be, lying there on that paper-covered stretcher, waiting to get sewn up like a pair of ripped trousers, all Steve can think about is Bucky. 

**\---**

Thor’s disappearance sets all the Avengers—and their support—into panic mode. For a while, looking for Bucky takes a backseat to looking for Thor. For a while, Steve has to leave home once more, nomadic, this time, searching for _another _man missing from his life. But unlike in his search for Bucky, Thor’s disappearance leaves nothing. Not a trace, not a whisper. Even the ever-present, immovable Mjolnir is missing. Loki’s actions seem to have erased Thor from the universe, leaving nothing in his place but a cold, empty void.

Steve, after all he’s gone through, after all he’s witnessed, should have known that the universe abhors a void. Of all people, Steve should have known that the galaxy would fill the Thor-shaped hole before long. He’s a seventy-year-long story of balance restored, after all.

But Steve doesn’t. As the universe sets to righting its unbalanced energies, the world desperately needs the Avengers to deal with other threats, non-magical _and _magical. Captain America, as it is, has a mission to protect. Steve Rogers, as it is, has a mission he has never—will never—back down from.

As the universe seeks to settle itself from its chaos, Steve Rogers, that boy from Brooklyn, uprooted once more, is desperately, fleetingly, looking for _Bucky. _

**\---**

If one unshakeable law of the universe was that it abhors a vacuum, another unshakeable law of the universe was that someone, in the age of gods and monsters and supersoldiers and spies, would _always _try to shakedown Steve’s home city.

This time, the threat is entirely human, though Steve only begrudgingly considers them that. Hydra, decimated but dangerous all the same, managed to gather all the foot soldiers and firepower they could, all in an attempt to take over New York City.

It wasn’t anything that the Avengers couldn’t handle. At their best-prepared, Hydra would be destroyed and done with before the day’s end.

But right now, the Avengers aren’t at their best. Thor is missing, half the team is traversing time and space to look for him, and, more than anything, they’ve stretched their attention thin.

While Rhodes and the boy Maximov twin work to evacuate civilians as quickly and as efficiently as they can, Steve leads the rest of the team in facing off against Hydra head-on. With Natasha beside him, Sam in the air above them, and Barton on a perch a few clicks away from them, Steve wastes no time nor sympathy in stemming the Nazi army tide. But despite all their collective training, despite Steve’s status as a _literal _supersoldier, the four of them are still only half a team. Half a team made up of three humans and one supersoldier up against a veritable army. Quickly, despite their best efforts, they begin to falter. Hydra, for a moment, seems to be advancing, pushing ahead.

And just as Steve begins to scramble for a new strategy, everything changes.

“Uh, guys,” Barton says, his voice barely audible on the comms. From the sound of it, on his sniper’s perch on some skyscraper above them, the wind is whipping violent enough to nearly knock Clint down into the battle below. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, so feel free to tell me to fuck off, but—uh—” 

“Spit it out, Barton,” Nat grunts, freeing herself with a sudden, violent twist and a mean, electrified punch to the solar plexus of a Hydra foot soldier who tried to subdue her.

“Okay,” Clint says, and he pauses, and before Steve can say anything, two Hydra goons behind Steve fall limp, tiny, potent tranq arrows having hit them square in their necks. Steve doesn’t have time to thank Clint, not when there’s another team of armed agents making a charge towards him. “This’ll sound dumb. But—it’s the birds.”

“The birds?” Nat groans, sounding both frustrated and unsurprised. “Come on, seriously, Barton? You’re birdwatching _now?_”

“No, no, no, hear me out this time. They all—all at once, they flew off. Not like they’re swarming, or anything but—but like they’re leaving. Like they’re—I dunno. Like they’re reatreating,” Clint says. Steve can hear him nocking another arrow, and another Hydra goon goes down, this time, with a real, carbon-fiber arrow sticking out of his throat.

“What are you saying, Barton?” Steve asks, between punching Hydra goons _square in their ugly Nazi skulls. _

“I think they’re afraid of something, guys,” Barton says, getting a little quiet as he does. “I think something is coming.”

Suddenly, everything goes dark. Black, stormy clouds blot out the formerly-bright blue summer sky. Thunder rumbles low and ominous, practically shaking the whole goddamn city. For a moment, everything stops, and everyone—civilians, Avengers, Hydra foot soldiers—looks up to the sky, can feel the temperature dropping sharply. It’s damn-near apocalyptic, and Steve raises his shield, preparing himself for the worst.

“Falcon, Rhodes, ground yourselves, now,” Steve barks into the comms, glancing up at the skies, desperately searching for Sam.

“Copy that,” says Rhodes, at the same time Sam’s voice speaks in Steve’s ear.

“Already on it, Cap. Didn’t have to tell me twice,” says Sam, and he lands on a rooftop, about two-hundred feet away. Steve nods at him, and Sam nods back, their shared grim anticipation visible, even in that distance between them.

The thunderclaps soon become deafening, and those angry-looking clouds glow with lightning—lightning that seems to be traversing the clouds, getting closer and closer to the scene of the heart of their battle with Hydra.

Part of Steve thinks what might be approaching them is their missing teammate, but the energy in the air is different. Sharp, perhaps. _Charged. _Whatever, whoever, is being signaled, is an unknown. Friend or foe, a Hydra ally or an enemy to them both, is unclear. No, Steve doesn’t know what the sudden shift in weather has in store. But he does manage one command, a direct order to his team, as captain: “Avengers, eyes up!”

And, almost in that _exact_ moment, a clap of blue-white lightning strikes the city, bright as an explosion and just as devastating. The force of it brings Steve fully to his knees. Not metaphorically. No, enhanced though he may be, after getting hit by the aftermath of what felt like a controlled nuclear explosion, Steve is shaken_._

Once the smoke and dust clear, Steve comes back to himself, quick as he can, panicked. He glances around him, and sees the other Avengers just as disoriented, but otherwise unharmed. The same cannot be said for the Hydra army, strewn against the city, lying still. And in the center of it all, in the aftermath, stands a helmeted, masked man, holding a familiar hammer glowing that same white-blue. 

“Thor?” Steve asks, breathless. But it’s not. Not exactly. Because standing in front of him is Thor, no doubt. The crackle of lightning emanating from Mjolnir—which, as far as Steve can tell, is the _real deal—_make that clear enough. But this Thor isn’t Loki’s brother. This Thor isn’t the one who disappeared. From the set of his shoulders, from the way that he moves, even from what little Steve can see of his face, Steve can tell this is another Thor, a new Thor, someone else _worthy _enough to wield Mjolnir in its original owner’s absence.

“Hold fire,” Steve says into the comms, “I’m going to approach.” 

“Better know what you’re doing, Cap,” Nat says into the comms, her voice tight with trepidation.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” says Steve Rogers, master tactician, lying to the world’s most-deadly superspy. 

Before Natasha can respond, Steve moves, deliberately and full of intent. Electricity—crackling, sparking, and raw—surges underneath the plates of New Thor’s armor-clad arm, glowing, ever-slightly, a clear warning to anyone, to _everyone, _of his potential danger. Steve approaches him, carefully, shield hitched up on his back, and hands in front of him. Though New Thor seems to be an ally, the damage he’s capable of doing is more than clear. Steve doesn’t plan on taking any chances. This new Thor might be on their side. He might even be a future comrade. But he’s far from a friend.

No—New Thor is an unknown. And as far as Steve’s concerned, _unknowns, _friendly or not, are dangerous, dangerous things.

“Hi,” is what Steve says, his tone level.

New Thor glances him over, sizing him up, his eyes glowing blue with the same electricity coursing underneath the plates of his armored arm, the same electricity underneath his skin. It almost hurts to look him in the eye. “You—uh. You really saved us out there.”

New Thor looks at Steve, his face unreadable, especially with the helmet masking half his face. His visible facial features are not _Thor_-Thor’s, but they are uncanny in a way that just barely evades Steve. As he watches Steve, New Thor is almost as still as a statue, the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest the only evidence to his life. Then, slowly, he raises Mjolnir, and though his actions do not telegraph hostility, Steve has to suppress a flinch, anyway. Every muscle in Steve’s body tenses up as New Thor points Mjolnir—that ancient, dangerous weapon—directly at Steve. But does not retaliate. He does not budge. Steve, anxious though he may be, does not cower under his shield, even if he knows it will protect him.

Which was a good choice, he discovers, when New Thor presses the cool metal of Mjolnir against Steve’s chest, gentle as a lover’s touch. New Thor—unfamiliar, even in that familiarity of title—taps Steve on the chest, right in the middle of the star blazoning his tac suit—gentle. Friendly. _Playful, _even. There’s no jolt of pain, no wave of shock, just a funny little _tingle. _Just as Steve opens his mouth to say something, just as he’s about to say something clever back, New Thor tilts his head, raising his hammer to the sky, presenting a challenge—wordless, expressionless, but a challenge, still, if Steve has seen any: _catch me if you can. _

“Wait—!” Steve starts, but it’s too late. As quick as he came, New Thor is gone, disappeared in the split-second crackle of a lightning strike. 

“Guess we found Mjolnir,” Clint says, his deadpan voice somehow even more sarcastic over the comms.

**\---**

Once all is said and done, New York City continues on as normal. Civilians who got caught up in Hydra’s attempts to take over New York are able to safely return to their homes. Most of the damage done to the city’s structures are minimal—nothing that a little bit of clean-up won’t fix. The biggest headache, in Steve’s view, is the street full of dead Nazis, and even then, _better a dead Nazi than an alive one. _

It’s long past midnight by the time the Avengers are done cleaning up their former battle site. Pietro—the speedster, the boy Maximov—helps immensely in speeding things up, even if he _is _a chatterbox, especially next to Clint. Soon enough, they’ve cleared the area of Hydra foot soldiers and whatever classified tech Hydra left behind. Sam and Rhodes, blessed with the capacity for flight, make their way back to base. Pietro, still buzzing with his ever-present energy, decides to walk back, racing ahead of Steve, Clint, and Nat, who load up into a Helicarrier—tired, stinking of sweat, but otherwise safe.

As they strap in for the brief flight, the Helicarrier is silent, save for the pressurized hum of the ship preparing for takeoff. Steve’s entire body aches, and both Natasha and Clint slump against their chairs, looking half-asleep, already. Even hours later, Steve can still feel that gentle pressure of Mjolnir on his chest, on his heart.

Luckily, Clint breaks the tension in the room before Steve gets too caught up in thinking about what it means that having an immoveable object pressed against him is something he can’t stop thinking about.

“So,” Clint says, his tone casual.

“_So,_” Natasha echoes, in a way that makes it clear that it’s something she does often.

Clint looks like he’s mulling something over, fiddling with a loose string on one of his gloves. Eventually, he takes a deep breath, looks Steve straight in the face, and nearly-yells, over the roar of engines taking off:

“So, uh…who the _fuck_ was that?”

**\---**

Steve wouldn’t have an answer to _who _New Thor is. Not then, anyway. But he was determined to learn more about the guy. It was imperative that Steve—the whole team, actually—knew who they would be dealing with. It was imperative that Steve knew who it was he would be fighting alongside.

_It was imperative that Steve made sense of why that playful little tap wouldn’t leave his mind. _

**\---**

For a while, Steve thinks he’s over the little tap, the nudge, the friendly little greeting from the unfamiliar version of Thor. For a while, he’s almost forgotten about the guy, even.

Which, of course, meant that New Thor would show up again to unsettle Steve’s tenuous comfort. 

And, of course, it’s Nazis again, because it’s _almost always Nazis, _if it’s not Loki or killer Starkbots or Eastern European twins with superpowers. Luckily for Steve, it’s not an army of Hydra goons this time. It’s a squadron, at most. He can take them on. Even if they _do _have HammerTech weapons made from modified Chitauri parts. 

“We’re sending over backup, Cap,” Romanov says over the coms, as Steve deflects a blast from one of the Hydra goons’ hybrid alien-guns. “Hang tight.”

And with that, like a flashback, like a memory, Steve notices the sky getting dark and threatening overhead, announcing the arrival of someone far, far more dangerous than the threat before Steve.

“Backup just arrived, Romanov,” Steve says, and as if on cue, a bolt of lightning strikes the spot between Steve and the Hydra squadron—leaving the God of Thunder standing tall and ominous in the sparks of its aftermath.

Before Steve even nod in greeting, New Thor rushes at a cluster of Hydra goons, swinging Mjolnir like a baseball bat, knocking them out—permanently, perhaps—in one quick movement.

This Thor—not the one who disappeared, not the one he’s fought beside since the Battle of Manhattan, but familiar all the same—turns to look at Steve, those bright blue eyes glowing, literally glowing, with electric energy underneath that sleek, gunmetal-black helmet. Something about his stoic expression belies a playful camaraderie, and all Steve can do is smile back at him, nodding at him less like a leader, less like his _Captain, _and more like a partner.

It feels good, having a partner to fight side-by-side with, Steve thinks. And is this New Thor an interesting partner, indeed.

Like Bucky, New Thor is an unstoppable force to Steve’s immovable object, though in vastly different ways. Back during the war, Bucky was a careful killer—all precision and perfection, ever-careful, but always hitting his mark. Where Steve was a two-hundred-forty-pound battering ram, Bucky was a scalpel, was piano wire: sharp, invisible, unstoppable.

New Thor, though, New Thor is all brute force. He swings his hammer with brutal intent, and lightning aside, he fights nothing like a god. He fights nothing like Thor, son of Odin. No, the Odinson fights—_fought_—like nobility, conjuring images of fantasy battles for vast realms, for a scope that seems impossible, even for Steve. But this Thor, New Thor, he fights like a boxer, like a back-alley brawler. He fights like Steve would, if Steve could pick up the hammer.

More importantly, he fights well beside Steve. They fight well _together. _There’s a rhythm that they fall into—quick, natural, symbiotic. It feels like they’ve been doing this together for years, for decades. Even when Steve gets knocked down, New Thor has his back. New Thor gets Steve up. Before long, the two of them manage to neutralize the Hydra squadron, without even needing backup.

“I—” Steve starts, glancing from New Thor’s masked face, to his arm, to Mjolnir, still crackling with electricity. He’s still catching his breath, but only in the way that fighting battles makes one out of breath. Not in the way that he feels worn, not in the same way that he does when fighting alongside, say, Stark. In fact, Steve almost feels re-energized, fighting alongside this New Thor. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. “Thank you.”

New Thor nods, and Steve almost thinks he can see the hint of a smile in those pretty, plush pink lips.

_Pretty. _Steve stops himself. Why the hell was he thinking of this stranger as _pretty? _Why the hell was he looking at his lips?

It’s only when he realizes that New Thor is about to leave that Steve manages to pull himself out of his thoughts. Self-interrogating would have to wait. Steve wanted to have a _conversation _with the guy. Or, at the very least, get his name. 

Just as Steve is about to stop the new God of Thunder, just as Steve is about to take his hand, New Thor raises the hammer and, in a burst of blue-white lightning, takes to the sky, quick as a bullet. Before Steve really has the time to process anything, New Thor is gone, leaving Steve alone to process the simultaneously strange and familiar ways that this new, beautiful Thor confuses and excites him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my gosh i can't get over how great sami and felix's art are, everyone. [sami's GLOWS IN THE DARK](https://whatthefoucault.tumblr.com/post/189090270421/hi-is-what-steve-says-his-tone-level-new-thor). i can watch that glow-and-the-dark gif all day. i am so blessed to have such a good team. seriously, i think about how wonderful this team is and my lil heart just feels like it's 'bout to burst. 
> 
> up next: steve rogers comes face-to-face with his feelings, in the only way that he knows how.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--again and again and again and again.

As the weeks and weeks go on, the sun-kissed, energetic warmth of a world back in bloom gives way to the awful, garbage-sticky heat of summer in New York City.

Steve might have missed the city before he moved back, but on the days he’s trapped in a crowded, stinky subway car, he seriously begins to reconsider his life choices.

And, it seems, perhaps Bucky has, too. Just as quickly as he reappeared in New York, Bucky has disappeared, dropping off the grid for no reason that Steve can find. It worries Steve, not knowing if Bucky if Bucky is safe. Not knowing if he’s even in the city. Not _knowing. _

Steve doesn’t like unknowns. Not with Bucky. Not with missions. Not with most things. Especially when—unlike with Bucky—he can control it.

But, as Steve quickly learns, not knowing doesn’t necessarily always have to be bad. Not knowing can, sometimes, make things much, much more exciting.

**\---**

Of all the unknowns in the chaos in Steve’s life, New Thor is perhaps one of the more-exciting ones.

Unlike the Original Thor—Thor Odinson, _the Odinson_, as they’ve started to call him—New Thor can’t really be considered an Avenger_. _New Thor isn’t much of a team player at all, really. But he does show up. And when he does, more often than not, he shows up to fight alongside Steve.

It feels natural, fighting alongside New Thor, even if the two of them haven’t exchanged words. There’s something calculated about New Thor’s brute-force style that feels familiar to Steve. They move in ways that compliment each other without planning, without strategizing. Without even really knowing each other, Steve and New Thor have made of themselves a dangerous pair.

After their first few bouts together, New Thor starts showing up even more. He drops into smaller skirmishes, even acting as backup when Steve finds himself fighting alone. It’s after one of these small fights—practically back-alley fights, because Steve Rogers can’t help but return to fighting bullies in back alleys again and again and again—that Steve manages to briefly catch New Thor before he flies off.

“Hey,” Steve says quickly, not even winded after taking out a small phalanx of Hydra terrorists with New Thor. They’re not dead, not this time, but they won’t be causing trouble for a long, long time, either. New Thor turns, his body language looking open. “Great work out there. I—we work well together.”

New Thor smiles, toothy. It’s bright, one that reminds Steve, ever-briefly, of teenage Bucky’s snaggletoothed grin. New Thor’s smile, though, is just as straight as it is pearlescent. Not that Steve expected any less from the current incarnation of a _god. _

When New Thor doesn’t say anything in response—but, at the same time, does not leave—Steve can’t help himself but filling in that silence.

“Not much of a talker?” he asks. “That’s fine. We’ve got enough loudmouths on our team. Clint’s out here giving us the play-by-play of all the little details he sees from his perch, Sam and Rhodey are always going back-and-forth with Air Force banter to tease me, and Tony? _Christ, _I mean. I’m sure he’s infamous wherever you’re from, too. So—you know. We could use a guy like you. Strong, silent type.”

New Thor lets out a laugh, a chuckle, a low rumble in his chest that Steve _swears _he can feel charging the particles in the air around them. It’s the most that Steve has gotten out of the guy, and it’s almost a little overwhelming. Steve feels, despite himself, his cheeks warming up. Luckily, if New Thor notices, he does not say anything. Not that he _would. _Instead, he just shakes his head, still smiling, and takes off, leaving Steve alone, confused, and, not for the first time, scrambling to figure out a way forward. 

**\---**

It takes Steve about a week to come to terms with the reality staring him down with glowing, electric-blue eyes: _he has a crush. _

And, in true Steve Rogers fashion, he suffers in silence. No one—not even Sam, not even Natasha, not even the goddamn barista at Steve’s local coffeeshop—gets a _word _of Steve’s crush on New Thor. Not because New Thor is a strapping young man, no. Contrary to what high school history books and one Tony Stark tend to peddle, Steve’s experience in back alleys isn’t limited to fights alone. Back before New York became the hyper-gentrified playground that it is, Steve was all-too-familiar with the best places to sneak off to for a fight or an illicit fuck. No, Steve doesn’t share his feelings with anyone _precisely _because of how-deeply he feels. He’s not unused to passion, to lust, to back-alley blowjobs and profane whispers hot against skin.

A _crush, _though. That’s different. 

Over his century-long life, Steve has only had three crushes, three terrible, wonderful, confusing, grounding, unsatisfying crushes, including New Thor.

One was cut short when he crashed his plane in the Arctic. And the other one—well. The other one is a ghost.

How funny, Steve thinks, of all the people he’s had feelings for, the most-attainable is the _literal incarnation of a Norse god. _

Funny as it is—and secret as he keeps it—after some chaos, after some panic, Steve is determined. Like a man on a mission, like a man with a target, Steve hyperfocuses on his goal: he was going to get New Thor to talk to him. He was going to get the guy to stay. He was going to get New Thor to open up, even.

The rest of the team’s main concern might have been to find Thor Odinson, but Steve had a sub-mission, assigned in secret, and only to himself. And he was damn-well going to get it done.

**\---**

It takes a couple more weeks of scrapping with minor threats in dockyards and Nazi bars and abandoned army bases for Steve to draw New Thor out of his armor-plated, electrified shell. The process—as much as there is one, anyway—is sped along by the fact that, no matter where the fight finds Steve, New Thor is quick to join him. Him, and only him, it seems. Not even Bruce, who was close to the other Thor, before his disappearance, gets so much as a visit from New Thor. Mjolnir’s new master, it seems, shows up for one Avenger and one Avenger only. 

They might not have shared a single conversation between the two of them, but if Steve didn’t know any better, he might guess that New Thor, as secretive as he is, might have feelings for Steve, too. 

**\---**

When Loki returns, it’s less in an explosion of controlled chaos than his previous jaunt on the city. It’s a subtle return—as subtle as Loki is capable of. Striding down Flatbush Avenue on a giant, eight-legged horse, Loki looks bored, even as tourists and Brooklynites in equal measure scramble to find shelter and safety from whatever it is that Loki has planned.

Straight from his Brooklyn apartment, Steve arrives on the scene quickly, his arrival quick enough to catch Loki off-guard. With a quick toss of his shield, Steve manages to knock Loki off his horse, startling it enough to send it running.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers, before yelling into his comms, “I need backup on Flatbush Avenue, we’ve got an unknown horse-thing running towards Prospect Park!”

In Steve’s earpiece, Natasha barks an affirmative, giving an estimated ETA of ten minutes, but said unknown horse-thing has already disappeared into the park. Steve doesn’t have time to go chasing after it, though. Not when he has more important things to deal with.

Loki gets back to his feet, looking, at best, mildly-annoyed. He doesn’t have a staff with him, not this time, but Steve takes close account of the long, thin daggers strapped to Loki’s hips. “And just what do you think _that _accomplished?”

“You’re one to talk,” Steve says, crouching behind his shield. “What the fuck are you doing back in my city, Loki?”

Loki scoffs. “That’s quite some confidence coming from someone who crumpled under a little stab wound last time I was in _your city._ Besides, Captain, it might do you well to learn some humility. This is hardly your sole domain, if Stark’s tower means anything, and more importantly—I’m not here for _you._”

That last comment doesn’t surprise Steve. Not that it changes anything. As far as Steve is concerned, whether Loki is in Brooklyn to finish off Steve or for his own shits and giggles doesn’t matter. He’s still causing trouble, and causing trouble _in Brooklyn_. Steve can’t have that. With just as much force as before, Steve tosses his shield at Loki, its arc long but its momentum quick. Loki manages to dodge it, moving with superhuman speed, even without his teleportation-magic.

“Would you look at that! Your aim is getting better!” Loki laughs, sarcastically, before unsheathing both of his daggers from the holsters on his hips. They shimmer dangerously, like oil slicks, cutting an even more-intimidating silhouette against the gray, oppressive mugginess of that hot summer day. Instantly, Steve knows that getting hit by one of those would spell more danger than the last time Loki stabbed him. “My turn, now.”

Just as Loki is about to strike—quick as a viper and just as deadly—a rumble shakes Steve, shakes Brooklyn, to the bone. Loki freezes, looking up at the sky, and lets out a low chuckle, this time, sounding far from bored. 

“Ah. There you are,” Loki says, grinning that toothy, snake-like grin of his. “Come on, then!”

A moment passes. Then a moment more. Lightning does not strike. New Thor does not arrive. Quickly, Loki becomes bored, once more.

“Stood up?” Steve spits out, in spite of himself. Loki shoots him a glare, one that seems surprisingly-hurt at that particular comment. Just as Loki opens his mouth to say something possibly cutting and definitely cruel, he is cut off by the sound of another low rumble, this one, getting louder and louder as a familiar gray shape—Loki’s massive, eight-legged steed—gets closer and closer in the distance.

“Sleipnir?” Loki asks, turning quickly towards the noise, only to be faced with New Thor, bare-chested and blond, his eyes glowing a dangerous white-blue. Before Loki can react, New Thor swings Mjolnir at Loki, hitting him with the force of thunder, sending him flying. Steve takes this opportunity to sprint towards Loki, pinning him down with the combined force of his shield and all his supersoldier strength before he has the opportunity to get back up.

Loki groans underneath Steve. New Thor, still riding Sleipnir, trots over to where Steve and Loki are, looking serious—concerned, even—underneath his helmet. Once he dismounts, New Thor grabs Steve, heaving him up gently, looking him over carefully. He looks a whole lot like Bucky, hauling Steve up from when he’d been knocked flat on his ass after back-alley brawls. After his once-over, he nods, and settles Mjolnir square on the small of Loki’s back, effectively trapping him until S.H.I.E.L.D. transport arrives.

“Hey,” Steve breathes, his heart pounding in his chest. He likes to think it’s because of the sudden dive he took to lock Loki into a hold. Steve knows, deep down, that his heart fluttering has nothing to do with Loki at all. “Thank you. For—for everything.”

New Thor nods. A Helicarrier hovers close in the sky and prepares for landing. Sleipnir whinnies nervously, but New Thor makes gentle, shushing noises, letting go of Steve to pet Sleipnir’s big, soft muzzle.

As S.H.I.E.LD. agents secure a grumbling Loki, New Thor continues to pet Sleipnir’s muzzle, keeping Loki’s strange, unusually-skittish pony calm until it’s time to lift Mjolnir. Even after Natasha and Tony take Sleipnir, New Thor stays, never straying far from Steve’s side. Eventually, as the Helicarrier takes off once more, and Flatbush Avenue begins to return to its regular rhythm, Steve approaches New Thor, hoping to share—to some extent—his feelings.

“Hey,” Steve says, gently tapping New Thor on the forearm. “Before you go. I just wanted to say that I, uh. I really like working with you. Makes me feel like I have a partner. Makes me feel looked-after in a way I haven’t felt since, well. Since I had my best guy beside me, during the war.” 

And that. That makes New Thor _freeze. _For a moment, Steve thinks it’s because he’s shared too much. For a moment, Steve thinks that he’s overestimated their closeness. But the words are coming out, now. Though Steve’s plan to charm New Thor into submission _was _predicated upon flirting, this—these words—is unplanned. This confession and all the emotions deeply within it are all genuine. 

“Look, I—I never got to tell him _thank you. _I never got to tell him that he—that he meant the sun and stars to me,” Steve says. He has to pause to take a deep, steadying breath, before he continues on. But he continues on. “So, uh. Just thought I’d come out and say, you know. Thank you.”

“I—” New Thor starts, and his voice, that voice that Steve has been fantasizing about for what feels like his entire life, is low and rough as a summer storm, echoing with an inhuman—more than inhuman, _godlike_—reverb that reminds Steve of the rolling echo of thunder in the distance. “Thanks.”

And Steve Rogers, who has lived through so much, who has seen so many marvels and mysteries in his hundred-something years on earth, finds himself genuinely, honestly _lost _at the strange, exciting way that Thor—New Thor, this Thor, and his low, rumbling, _incredible _voice—makes his stomach flip. 

**\---**

That’s not the last time they fight together, as Steve tries to get closer to New Thor. It’s not even the last time New Thor saves Steve’s ass. In a couple skirmishes, though, Steve gets to return the favor.

It’s after one of those fights, after one of those times that Steve looks out for New Thor, instead of the other way around—that, for the first time, the new God of Thunder is the one to initiate their conversation.

“Thank you, Captain,” he says, his voice low, a purr, almost. Steve wants nothing more than to feel the rumble of that voice against his thighs.

“Steve,” Steve blurts out, almost embarrassingly quickly. New Thor looks at him carefully, those electric-blue eyes intense as a sudden shock. Steve feels himself blushing underneath his cowl, but somehow, that doesn’t stop him from doing what he does next. Somehow, the blush burning a swathe of pink up from the tip of Steve’s ears to the nape of his neck doesn’t stop him from undoing the strap on his helmet, loosing himself from the cowl, and revealing himself, his full self, to the man in front of him. Absentmindedly, nervously, Steve runs his fingers through his helmet-rumpled hair, before putting his hand out to shake.

The whole damn world might know that Steven Grant Rogers is Captain America, sure. But standing in front of New Thor with his helmet off, unmasked and unobscured, Steve feels vulnerable, naked in a way that he hasn’t been since he stepped into that recruitment office, all those decades ago. “You can call me Steve.” 

And just as he thought he’d gotten better at reading New Thor, Steve can’t make out what that strange expression is that he’s making now. For a moment, Steve thinks he’s done wrong, that he’s broken some unspoken Asgardian social rule. Almost as quick as he’d taken off the cowl, an apology forms on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out, all messy and embarrassing, all over the both of them. But it never does. It does not get the chance to. Because New Thor just takes Steve’s hand and shakes it, his grip firm and friendly and his thumb lingering on Steve’s palm just a _few seconds _too long for it to be anything but intentional.

“Steve,” New Thor echoes, his mouth set in a lopsided smile that makes Steve think, for whatever reason, of his teenage years. “You can call me Thor.”

“Thor,” Steve echoes. Not that it means anything. And yet. And _yet. _Somehow, it does. “Good to, uh. Good to officially meet.”

It should feel silly, sharing introductions after having fought alongside someone for the whole damn summer. And yet, it doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t feel like a _real _first meeting. But it _does _feel like a turning point. For Steve, it feels like the beginning of something new.

“Well. See you around. _Steve_,” says Thor—not _New Thor, _not anymore—eventually signaling his leave. For once, he’s not darting off. After seventy years on the ice and five years painstakingly building a life in the new century, Steve couldn’t ever consider himself too sappy or sentimental. But in that moment, Steve realizes: he wants nothing more than to hear his name on Thor’s tongue forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mostly included sleipnir because of [sami's incredible sleipnir dala horse](https://twitter.com/samikelsh/status/1168478065716080640). please adore it with me. 
> 
> (also, did you know that sleipnir is derived from the old norse for "slippy?" so loki's kid horse is sleipnir the spider-horse. i wish norse mythology fandom was all about this kinda fun stuff and not, you know. the stuff that it has been appropriated for).
> 
> up next: an escalation.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> burning; sweet summer sweat.

“Ugh.”

_Ugh _is all Steve can say in the aftermath of a particularly-physical battle, on a particularly-humid summer day. Encased in the heavy, dark material of his tac suit, Steve’s entire body feels over-heated and drenched. He glances over at Tony, comfortable in an air-conditioned suit, wishing that he was so lucky. Or Natasha, whose suit, though tight, has bright blue built-in cooling coils.

Or Thor. Who, at all times, leaves his broad, beautiful chest bare. Not just bare. On display.

All of a sudden, Steve feels over-heated for a _very different _reason. 

The idea of _strip down, lay it bare, show him what you’re working with _hits Steve like a spark of inspiration. He’s going to take his shirt off, right there, out in the open. It’s _so hot, _after all. He _has_ _to_.

Well, he doesn’t _have to_. But it won’t hurt.

Steve peels out of the top half of his uniform, letting out a soft, breathy moan as he does so. It feels good, getting out of his red, white, and blue shell. It feels good, letting his body _breathe. _Even outside of its role in seducing Thor, stripping down to the skin just _feels _good. Steve stretches, rolling his shoulders in a way that he knows shows off his perky, pretty chest. With a sneaky, sideways glance, he peeks over at New Thor, making eye contact for what feels like forever, but what could very well be only the briefest of moments. Steve holds Thor’s gaze in his own, watching _him _watch him, before cracking a secret, sly little smirk and winking, playful, flirty, and _come-hither _if there ever were a look. 

Hard as he may be to parse, Thor’s expression, as his gaze lingers over Steve, is clear as day. The expression that lingers over his features isn’t just curiosity. It isn’t even just admiration. It’s hungry_._

_Success._

**\---**

They get closer—physically closer—after that. Thor steers Steve’s body when they battle find themselves battling in close quarters. Steve manages to brush his fingers against Thor’s hand, every now and then, reveling in the funny feeling of static that it leaves him with. Neither of them acknowledges it, except in sideways glances, except in bashful, electric smiles, except in handshakes held a little too long.

Neither of them acknowledges it until one hot, sticky day that Steve decides it’s high time to face their flirtations head-on.

“Hey, could I ask you for something?” Steve asks. It’s after a fight, the violent, quotidian everyday of being _Captain America and Thor. _This time, it’s a band of rogue elves from—somewhere. Steve wasn’t paying close attention, and neither, it seemed, was Thor. The elves, familiar with the Odinson as they might have been, are completely caught off-guard by this Thor’s style of fighting. He and Steve manage to make quick work of them. As S.H.I.E.L.D. agents scan the area for any remaining magical artifacts, Steve leads New Thor to a relatively-secluded alleyway, one not unlike the ones he’d led other handsome, strapping hunks to back in another version of Brooklyn. 

Almost immediately, almost without considering Steve’s request, Thor nods, wordlessly. Under his mask, his face is hard to read, but after all this time of working hard to get the guy to stay, even for a moment longer, Steve thinks he’s got a handle on reading his expressions, subtle though they may be. And from the way that Thor’s lips quirk, just barely, just so, at the corners, Steve is certain that his long game of charming the _pants _off the new God of Thunder has worked out swimmingly. 

Well. Not literally. But soon. Hopefully. If Steve’s long-game works out. Which it _always has_.

“You’re the God of Thunder, right?” Steve starts, a little bit playful, unsnapping the top button of his uniform top to reveal just the _barest _hint of collarbone. He rolls his head in a stretch—_casual, natural_—to reveal the delicate skin of his neck in a move that is coy and inviting. Thor’s gaze can be hard to track, what, with the fact his eyes are always glowing white-blue, but Steve notices the dart of darker-blue pupils stealing a glance. _Perfect. _“It’s just—it’s been real gross out here lately.”

Thor tilts his head, that barely-there smile becoming more and more visible by the second. “It sure has been.” 

Steve sighs, looking up at Thor, playfully. “I dunno what it’s like up in Asgard, or wherever it is that you’re from, but the city gets to be a _real _dumpster during the summer. You could probably smell it, right? I mean, Jesus, the humidity’s just been killer, and I swear, by the time that I get outta my subway car, I’m just—so fuckin’ _so _fuckin’ _hot_.”

Thor’s chest rises and falls, if only slightly. It’s barely-there, subtle as piano wire, evidence of the tremendous degree of _control _that Thor is expertly exercising over his body, over his desire. Steve wants nothing more than to let him falter, than to have this new, strange, fascinating God of Thunder fully-relax that control. Steve wants nothing more than to have Thor _wreck _him.

“I just want one thing,” Steve murmurs, his voice low. He crowds against New Thor, giving him just enough space to escape, if he turns skittish. “For now.”

A pair of big hands encircle Steve’s waist, pulling him in close, pulling him in by the hips. Looking at New Thor getting _this _close to him nearly makes Steve want to look away. He’s so beautiful, even from what Steve can see of him. Even in spite of the fact that Steve doesn’t know what he looks like, under that impenetrable gunmetal mask. The pinkness of his lips, the glow of electricity under those blue, blue eyes—it almost makes Steve fear being burned. It’s almost like looking at the sun.

“Well,” Thor murmurs, “Ask away, Captain.” 

“Can you make it rain for me?”

Thor smiles, and he tips Steve’s head up, gently, ever-gently. Steve can hardly breathe as they close the distance between each other, his body feeling taught, electric, buzzing like a live wire. And then, sudden as the explosion of lightning off in the distance, they’re kissing. Tender and passionate, they kiss, summer rain pattering gentle against their skin, the sticky-heat of the summer dissolving on their tongues. Distantly, Steve realizes that he’s expected back at the Tower; he realizes, at the edge of his mind, that he can’t spend his day in a grimy alleyway. Not as much as he would like to. He pulls away, catching his breath, staring up at those blue, blue eyes—and nearly getting lost in them, once more.

“I—” Thor starts, his godly glow incomparable, even in an alley, even in the rain.

Steve pulls a small, worn field sketchbook out of one of his belt-pouches, scribbling his address down as he speaks. “I—I have to go. But—I want to do this again.”

Thor doesn’t make a sound, but the way his grip flexes on Steve’s hip speaks volumes. Steve feels his whole body flush, burning pink against the cool summer rain. It takes Steve all his self-control not to kiss New Thor again, all his supersoldier strength to tear that page out of his field sketchbook, instead. 

“I don’t know where it is that you go after all of this, but—” Steve starts, leveling a look at Thor that he hasn’t used—hasn’t _had _to use—in _years. _“Here’s my address. In case you—y’know. Don’t wanna go all the way back to Asgard.”

He folds the piece of paper up tightly, and slips it into Thor’s palm, letting their fingers graze against each other—slow, teasing, intimate—as he pulls his hand away. For a moment, they simply stand there, watching one another with hunger, with choked-off intent. The summer humidity might not be quite as cloying, not with the rain, but the air in that alleyway, the air surrounding Steve and Thor is charged, heavy as a thunderstorm. 

“You should go,” Thor breathes, but when he speaks, he sounds like he doesn’t want Steve to leave just as much as Steve doesn’t want to leave.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs, turning, slow. “But—don’t, uh. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Yeah,” Thor says. Steve can _feel _New Thor’s electric-blue gaze against his skin. “Yeah, okay.”

“Well,” Steve says, and as he steps out of the alleyway, he can swear he sees the sun peek through the clouds. “Catch you later, big guy.” 

From the relative darkness of the alleyway, Thor’s grin—that bright, perfect, familiar grin—nearly glows. “See you soon, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all my fics are 50% beefy bucky thirst, 50% thinking about how new york city is a swampy garbage dump in the summer. i might be biased because i'm only ever in the city during the summer, though, so. guess this is just an excuse to get me to experience bitterly-cold new york city winters, huh? 
> 
> anyway, the only note i have for this chapter is that even though the "canon" explanation for [the glowing blue piping in nat's age of ultron suit](https://am23.akamaized.net/tms/cnt/uploads/2015/03/Black-Widow-Ultron-Promos-613x480.jpg) is because they're for channeling electricity for the widow bites, i like to think that it's an advanced insulation system that keeps her cool and dry in extreme heat and humidity and warm in extreme cold. is there scientific basis for my theory? nah, but there's not scientific basis for the "canon" theory, either, so. 
> 
> up next: two conversations.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hard times, hard talks.

“Any news on Thor?” Natasha asks one dewy morning in Bryant Park, and Steve perks up, for a moment, thinking about that truly-electric kiss he shared on that rainy, late-summer night. He knows he’s blushing, his cheeks and ears burning warm with embarrassment. Fully aware of Steve’s confusion—and his burgeoning crush—Natasha sighs, clarifying. “_Our _Thor, I mean. _Loki’s brother, _Thor.”

“Right. The Odinson,” Steve says, biting back the instinct to say, _but this Thor is our Thor, too. _“Well, ever since Loki escaped custody, Clint’s decided he’s gonna take the reins tracking both him and Thor down the old-fashioned way. Strange is tracking down leads on the, uh. On the magical end.”

No matter how many times he says it, it wouldn’t stop being a weird thing to say. Steve might be a genetically-engineered supersoldier who slept through seventy years and fought extraterrestrial threats on the regular, but dealing with _actual magic? _That’s where he’s having trouble. Even if his current not-boyfriend _is _the incarnation of a god. 

“Well. I hope they’re talking to each other,” Natasha says, sounding a little tired as she does. “Clint can be _spectacularly_ stubborn sometimes, especially when it comes to working with new people.”

Steve snorts. “Strange is the same way.”

“Yeah?” Nat asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. He thinks, briefly, about a way to put it tactfully, to put it judiciously. He can’t think of a single thing. So, Steven Grant Rogers, who hardly ever minces words, just shares how he feels. “He’s a dick.”

Natasha snorts. “_That’s_ an understatement. Apparently, he was even worse before. Can you even _imagine_?”

“Christ, no,” is what Steve says, shaking his head, but amused, nonetheless. 

A silence befalls them, not uncomfortable, and not unwanted. For a while, Natasha and Steve sit together, coffees in front of them, watching Midtown and all its inhabitants go about their collective morning. Loki’s attack on the area—an attack that has changed Steve’s life so irrevocably—seems to have left no permanent trace on the area, or its regulars. In a telling testament to the city’s resilience, looking at Bryant Park, it’s as if Loki’s little stunt never happened. 

“What about the _other _Thor, then?” Natasha asks, suddenly, and with it, Steve’s blush is back. It’s less intense, or at least, Steve thinks it is. But he can’t hide it. He can’t hide how he feels about the guy, the god, the _other Thor_.

Steve sips his coffee, before shrugging a careful, halfhearted little shrug. “He’s, uh, you know. Still a man of mystery. Shows up, we fight together, and he flies off. That’s all.”

“Yeah?” Natasha asks, sounding unconvinced. “That’s all?”

Of course, it’s not all. Of course, he’s cutting out the parts where he and New Thor sneak off together like schoolchildren. Or where they have dates at the city’s edge where skyscrapers meet the clouds. Or that Steve has the planes of Thor’s armor, of his chest, of his body, memorized. Or the fact that he knows what electricity tastes like on his tongue. 

Of course, he doesn’t admit any of that to Natasha. And so, he just shrugs another dismissive shrug. And so, Steve, never one to back away, never one to retreat, doubles down. “Yeah. That’s all.”

“Mm,” Natasha hums, in the way that she does, in the way that’s meant to let Steve know that _she knows. _

**\---**

On the roof of his pre-war Brooklyn walkup, Steve lays against _his _Thor’s bare chest, looking up at stars that should not be visible through the city’s thick barrier of light pollution. They’ve done little more than kiss, and Thor doesn’t share much about himself when they talk, but somehow, Steve feels a sense of serenity and love when he’s around him that almost feels like they’ve known each other forever.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Steve asks eventually, his voice quiet. “It’s kinda outta left-field, so you don’t gotta answer it. But—I’m curious.”

Thor hums, low. It makes Steve shiver in all the best of ways. “Go ahead.”

Steve doesn’t know how to broach the topic. Not really. He’s never been good at words. Not when it has to do with stuff like _this._ “I mean. Okay. So, I know you’re not—you’re not the other Thor.”

Thor nods, making a short, almost lyrical hum of agreement, as he does. He’s absentmindedly stroking Steve’s hair, almost like Steve’s mother used to do. Almost like Bucky used to do, once upon a time, after Sarah Rogers was no longer of this earth. “I’m not.” 

“So, your relationships with other humans. I mean, the other Thor had Jane, for, you know. A while. But—am I—” Steve starts, suddenly feeling very, very insecure. “I mean, as far as humans go—”

“Steve Rogers, you are the only man who I have ever felt this way with,” Thor says, quiet. Serious. When he speaks it, something awakens in Steve, something small and fragile, something that makes Steve think about being a teenager again. Something that makes Steve think about being in _his _Brooklyn again. Something that makes Steve think about _Bucky. _Swallowing tears that he did not realize formed, Steve nods, smiling a teary little smile that he did not expect to come out of his spur-of-the-moment question. 

Something else in Steve, also small and fragile, aches when he hears Thor speak those simple, straightforward words. Though Steve is Thor’s _only,_ no matter how much he might want it to be, he can’t say that he is the same for Steve. Because Steve loved Bucky. Unshared and unreciprocated as that love might have been, Steve _loved _Bucky.

Deep down, Steve still does.

**\---**

The most painful part about losing Bucky, beyond the fact that Steve was so _close _to finding him again, beyond the fact that he has seemingly disappeared from New York City completely, beyond the fact that Steve _still loves him_, is the simple fact that Thor reminds Steve _so much of Bucky. _

It’s not just way that he grins. It’s not just the way that he strokes Steve’s hair. It’s not even just the way that he’s seemingly always there, watching Steve’s six like a guardian angel. No, it’s other things. Smaller, more-subtle things. It’s the dimple in his chin, the constellation of freckles dotting his chest, the way he worries his lower lip, the careful way that he watches Steve.

But unlike Bucky, Thor and Steve are more than _just friends. _Unlike Bucky, Steve’s Thor—god though he might be—is within reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it mean for me to only mention strange to dunk on him? yes. will i stop doing that for characters that i don't like, including but not limited to strange, in future fics? perhaps. wink.
> 
> (i actually used to like doctor strange a whole, whole lot, back in the pre-MCU days of direct-to-DVD marvel animated movies, but the orientalism and the whitewashing and benedict cumberbatch kinda left me with a sour taste in my mouth for the character. it sucks, and maybe it's not the most rational position in the world, but that's the way it is.) 
> 
> next: a turning point.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> disaster and desire. (not in that order).

As summer begins to fade, Steve begins to slowly, painfully, pull away from his search for Bucky.

He tells himself it’s temporary. He tells himself that Bucky will make himself known when he wants to make himself known. He tells himself that with all that has happened in the last few months, pulling away is more a shift in mindset than it is a substantive change. 

It wrecks him, all the same. 

**\---**

On a crisp, sunny autumn afternoon, Steve Rogers is, regrettably, trapped in a conference room. A _window-less _conference room, at that.

“Is this on? Can you hear me over there?” says Clint, on the other end of the line. His video is fuzzy, and in true Clint fashion, his thumb is half-covering the camera, but the audio is clear as the desert skies behind him. 

“Clinton Francis, get your thumb off the camera,” Natasha says, deadpan. Clint rolls his eyes, but he does what he’s told, regardless. Sam shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“Alright, Hawkeye,” Steve says, smiling. Even in that depressing conference room, Sam and Nat’s and Clint’s energy is infectious. “What’ve you got to report?” 

“Well, other than that I fuckin’ _love _the Southwest, my biggest piece of news for you is that I think I might’ve caught a lead. I’m not _a hundred percent _sure. But I’m still probably _ninety-nine percent _sure. Maybe _ninety-five. _Maybe,” Clint says.

Steve likes those odds. “Alright, alright. Sounds solid. Tell us more about this lead, then.” 

“So, over the past few months, someone’s been calling police departments all over the Southwest about missing persons cases,” Clint says. He pauses, and Steve’s not sure if the pause was intentional, or if it was a consequence of Clint’s flimsy connection. “Most of the information requests have been to departments in and around New Mexico.”

“And?” Natasha asks. Not in a cruel way. More like in a, _tell us the good stuff _way. 

“And, get this: there’s been a trail of unexplained magical incidents that seem to be increasing in frequency in the Southwest. A trail that seems to have an end goal of a certain little desert town,” Clint says, unable to hold back his knowing smile. 

A flash of recognition makes its way across Natasha’s face. “You’re not saying—”

“Yep,” Clint says, matter-of-factly.

“Wait, what’s he saying?” Sam asks, brow furrowed. Clint yawns on the other end of the line. He sips from a gas station styrofoam cup, one that looks to contain enough coffee to stop the heart of a small elephant. “What does this mean?”

“This means,” Natasha says, “Thor’s most likely returned to the first place we found him. The first place on Earth he’d ever been.” 

“Puente Antiguo, baby!” Clint says, his delight entirely genuine. “Home of the best chili I’ve ever known.”

“Well, this is great, then,” Steve says, although he can’t ignore the feeling of melancholy that suddenly takes over him. “Barton, what’s your next move? Not chili-related.” 

“Aww, but chili. Man. Okay, Well, in that case, I’m headed over as soon as I’m wrapped up here. It’s a tentative lead, so let’s keep our hopes in check, but—I think we’ve got our guy. _Guys. _Gods. You know what I mean,” Clint says. “We have ‘em.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, solemnly. “Yeah, I think we have.”

**\---**

Knowing that Clint has a lead on Loki and the Odinson _should _be exciting to Steve. It _should _give him a sense of relief, or, at the very least, a feeling of satisfaction knowing that a mission will finally come to its close. But instead, Clint’s news is bittersweet, as Steve _also _knows it signals the end to the only relationship he’s had in the new century.

Like with losing track of Bucky, Steve tries to cut down his heartbreak by rationalizing the situation: he should be happy that his teammate is returning. He always knew, deep down, that having _his _Thor around was temporary. He’s been alone before. _He’s going to be fine. _

And maybe that—Steve’s energy of _I’m_ _going to be fine, but not really_—is what leads Thor, _his Thor, _to him that night. Maybe Steve’s heartbreak changed the energy of the city just enough for his partner, his quiet companion, his God of Thunder, to know where he’s needed. 

**\---**

As soon as Steve makes it back to his apartment, a clap of thunder shakes the city, and, as if on cue, it begins to rain. Perhaps against his better judgement—or perhaps because of it—Steve makes a beeline to the fire escape, opening the window as quickly as he can without breaking it.

“Hey, you,” Steve says, fondly. There, not for the first time, leaning against the fire escape, is Thor, looking completely nonplussed by autumn rain. In fact, he looks like he’s reveling in it, his broad shoulders relaxed and elbows resting comfortably against the railing. Mjolnir is comfortably hanging off a belt at his hip, and Steve can’t help but linger his gaze just a _few _seconds more than is appropriate.

Not that he wanted to be _appropriate _with this guy in the first place.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Steve asks, motioning towards his apartment. “Come warm up.”

He extends his hand, and Thor takes it, that funny little _spark _filling Steve, down to his core. Thor climbs into Steve’s apartment, and Steve wastes no time in pulling him close, drawing Thor into a deep, desperate kiss. A kiss that, Steve fully knows, could very well be their last.

Steve moans into the kiss, thirsty and desperate, drinking Thor in like he’s rain in the desert. As he feels Thor’s hands grab his waist, Steve can only murmur a half-choked off _yes _as he rolls his hips against Thor’s, earning a moan from him too, in turn.

Thor doesn’t hesitate. Any trace of that skittish demigod is gone, replaced by broad-shouldered confidence. Thor moves with purpose, pinning Steve against the wall with a strength that even Steve—enhanced as he might be—knows he cannot match. That motion, lightning-quick and gentle, even in its initial roughness, earns a little gasp from Steve, and he feels his heartbeat thudding a rabbit’s pulse in his chest.

“You gonna do this, finally?” Steve asks, his eyes flicking from this Thor’s, _his Thor’s,_ blue, blue eyes, to his broad chest, and back again. “You gonna fuck me?”

Thor licks a stripe down Steve’s neck, sending shivers down Steve’s spine. His grip on Steve’s waist tightens, and Steve can’t help but lean into it, even as he knows he has to get a yes from this guy—from _his guy, _now, if all goes well. 

“Mm, I still need a yes or no, bud,” Steve manages, his voice shaking with desire. New Thor is silent, and for a second, Steve thinks that he’s pushed this strange, skittish god too far this time. For a moment, Steve thinks that he’s done enough to earn the ire of Asgard _and _Earth. But all those fears are assuaged the moment that Thor speaks again, his voice just loud enough to shake Steve to his core. 

“_I want you_,” Thor rumbles, low, soft, his very voice filling Steve’s entire body with need. Beyond the fact that it reverberates with a tonality that no human voice could manage, there’s something about that voice that makes Steve melt, something about that voice that makes Steve feel like it was only ever meant for him. He keens, gripping New Thor like he’s a lifeline. “Let me have you, baby. _Please._”

“Yeah,” is all Steve manages, his breaths already shallow and needy. “_Yeah._”

Thor scoops Steve up, kissing him as he does, making his way to Steve’s bed with single-minded intent. All of a sudden, Steve feels far, far too hot for his clothes, and he strips down to the skin, hands trembling and heart beating in his throat, the moment that Thor sets him down on the mattress. 

“Look at you,” Thor murmurs, unbuckling his cape and letting it pool at his feet. He works at his belts next, working on the one holstering Mjolnir first, slowly, slowly drinking in Steve as he does. “Fuck, Steve, you’re _gorgeous._”

Under Thor’s intense, electric gaze, Steve’s _need _feels too big for his body. Exposed and yearning, the sole focus of the God of Thunder, Steve’s desire is too much, far, far too much. Looking away just long enough to rustle through his nightstand, Steve grabs a bottle of lube, barely warming it up before he squirts a generous amount into his hand, desperately fingering himself before Thor is even fully-undressed. 

“You’re so impatient, baby,” Thor laughs, tucking his thumbs beneath his waistband. Fingers working desperately, Steve’s mouth goes fully dry when Thor finally, finally frees his cock. It’s the biggest, most beautiful cock that Steve has ever seen in this century or the previous, already hard and dripping with precum.

“_Fuck,” _Steve whimpers, and he _swears _his knees nearly give out just thinking about taking Thor, taking _all of him. _

“You’ve wanted this so bad, for so long, haven’t you?” Thor asks, slicking up his cock, running his non-armored hand slowly, slowly down his whole length. As he edges himself open, damn-near fucking his own fingers in preparation, Steve’s finding it harder and harder to string together words.

“I want you, I want you,” he manages, pulling his fingers out, writhing, uncomfortably, at that emptiness.

“Mm,” hums Thor, sounding completely nonplussed, as he teases Steve, tracing Steve’s hole, feather-light, with the tip of his cock. “How much do you want me?”

Steve nearly cries. “I want you _so fucking bad. _I need you inside me. _Please._”

“_There’s _the magic word,” Thor murmurs, a devilish little grin spread across his face. Steve doesn’t have it in him to be frustrated, not when Thor is pushing inside of him, his big, big cock filling Steve _all the way up. _

“_Fuck,_” Steve keens. It’s almost too much, as Thor begins to move, rolling his hips against Steve in a slow, steady rhythm. Slow as it is, it leaves Steve feeling taught and overwhelmed, and he moans, soft, wanting, desperate. 

“You okay, baby?” Thor asks, his low rumble of a voice filling the whole goddamn room.

“M’okay,” Steve breathes. He’s okay, alright. He’s more than okay. He feels like pure electricity, his body taught and hypersensitive, all at once. “Keep going. Please—please keep going.” 

Steve feels Thor sizing him up, his gaze careful as it is intense. There is concern there, deep, tangible worry, but it fades just as soon as it came, and Thor shifts, his rhythm quicker, less-measured. As Thor shifts his pace, Steve lets out an affirmative little noise, settling into that incredible, overwhelming feeling of Thor fucking him, deeper and harder than Steve’s ever, ever been fucked before.

“So good, baby. You’re so, so good,” Thor murmurs, his voice sending vibrations through Steve’s whole body. It’s all a little too much when, suddenly, hits Steve _right there, _right at that perfect little spot, and it makes Steve tremble, it hits Steve like a storm, and he can feel himself at the edge, so, so, _so_ fucking close, so close that he’s just about lost the ability to form words. 

As Thor continues to thrust into him, unrelenting and _raw,_ the lights on Steve’s block begin to flicker. Steve, sharp as a tack and observant even in his fucked-out haze, begins to put things together. 

“Is that—” he breathes, “Are you—?”

Thor just _growls, _an affirmative if Steve had ever heard one, and the realization—that the God of Thunder, with all his incredible power, is losing control, all because of Steve, all because of how goddamn _good _he’s fucking Steve—sends Steve damn-near over the edge. As the lights in Brooklyn flicker, Steve Rogers cedes himself—all of himself—to Thor, quickly, like a freight train, careening towards that feeling of _undoing. _

“Fuck, _Stevie,_” Thor growls, his thunderous voice reverberating through Steve’s whole goddamn body as he comes with one last rough, desperate thrust. That little diminutive, deceptively simple as it is, jolts Steve like a shock to the system, and before he can put two and two together, before he recognizes _why _it makes him melt, Steve is coming, harder than he’s ever, ever come before.

**\---**

They lie in the afterglow of their very first fuck, Thor’s gentle blue-white glow the only light in the Brooklyn blackout. The scene is serene, the gentle patter of rain against Steve’s windows filling the room with a comfortable, domestic energy. But Steve is far from tranquil. As he lays his head on Thor’s bare chest once more, Steve listens to Bucky’s heartbeat, the same, even underneath electrified skin. It’s the same heartbeat that would lull Steve to sleep when he was too young and too poor and too sick to do anything but leave bed. It’s the same heartbeat that Steve remembers desperately checking each time things got a little too sticky during the war. It’s the same heartbeat that Steve remembers leading him through seventy years of ice, the same heartbeat Steve has been chasing for the last hundred years.

The man lying beside Steve sits up, shifting to look out the window. He moves like Bucky. He _breathes _like Bucky. All of a sudden, Steve has no idea how he ever saw anything _but _Bucky.

It’s undeniable. Underneath the mask is Bucky. The truth just needs to be confirmed. It’s so close—barely a few steps, barely a few breaths, away. Steve sits up, slowly approaching the man in front of him, bravery and fear simultaneously coursing through him.

“Can I—” Steve murmurs, and his hands go to Thor’s helmet, brushing up against its very edge. Thor tenses, but he does not move. Instead, he stands there, Steve’s hands framing his face, blue eyes glowing softly, soft enough to just _barely _be there at all. His hands, once resting solid on Steve’s waist, hang limp at his sides, and Steve longs for that touch. 

Like it’s something delicate, like it’s something sacred, Steve slowly, slowly, begins to push Thor’s helmet aside. As he attempts to unmask Thor, Steve moves with the gentle, telegraphed motions of someone dealing with a hurt animal. In the shadow of Thor’s helmet, underneath that ever-familiar mask, Steve finds more familiarity, still: Bucky’s arrow-straight nose, his diamond-sharp cheekbones, dimples that he’d once been ashamed of. Steve knows now, without even a hint of doubt, that Thor is Bucky. That Bucky is Thor. That his new man is someone who he’s known longer than Steve has known himself.

But just as sudden as Steve’s realization comes, just as sudden as a bolt of lightning, Thor jerks away, startled as the first time Steve saw him. Before Steve can get a word out, Thor is scrambling onto Steve’s fire escape, Mjolnir glowing bright against the rainy gray sky. 

“Wait—” Steve says, and before he can stop himself, the name—forbidden and intimate, quotidian and scared—slips out of his mouth. “Buck!”

Thor turns back, looking at Steve with a half-hidden expression of _panic _that Steve recognizes even with the mask in the way. After the causeway, after having that expression burned into his very soul, Steve would recognize it anywhere. Before Steve can say anything more, before he can even move to reach out, he’s gone, and Steve—having searched far and wide for Bucky, having fallen for Thor quicker than Lucifer fell from heaven—is, just as quick, lonelier than he’s ever been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "hi i'm crying in this starbucks" -- [em, upon beta reading this chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmanperfectsoldier)
> 
> :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reconciliation, return.

Steve stews in his feelings—anger, confusion, guilt, loneliness, and everything beyond and in between—and he does so, alone. Just like he did with the crush, just like he always does, Steven Grant Rogers suffers in silence, his only release the feeling of his knuckles against a punching bag, or his aching cock in his hand.

As Steve Rogers stews, New York becomes gray and cloudy, all the sticky, stinky heat of the summer and crisp, technicolor chills of autumn long gone, giving way to _in-betweenness, _to rain that, soon enough, will turn into snowfall, to black ice. On the morning news, too-peppy hosts banter about how it’s been unusually wet, even for this time of year. As he tiredly makes himself a cup of instant coffee, Steve tries to pretend he, too, finds novelty in it. As he looks out at Brooklyn, his hometown, the whole place hesitating to wake up for the day, Steve tries to pretend that he—like his fellow sleepy Brooklynites, like the over-tanned local TV personalities—doesn’t know the cause for all the sudden rain.

**\---**

The afternoon goes by in a blur. Steve has a meeting in Manhattan with the rest of the Avengers. Barton is in Puente Antiguo, doing deep cover. He’s found even more leads. He thinks he’s close. It’s a lot of talking, but not a lot of doing, and Steve, more than anything, just wants to be home.

By the time that Steve arrives back in Brooklyn, dusk has already fallen. At the very least, there isn’t rain. At the very least, Steve thinks, Bucky has shown up for him in that sense. 

When he makes his way into his apartment, though, he sees that Bucky has shown up for him in the very _material _sense, too.

Standing on the fire escape is Bucky. Mjolnir at his hip and helmet in hand, Bucky waits for Steve, his familiar features fraught and framed by dirty blond hair—not Bucky’s natural color, but not the light color he sported while _simply _Thor, either. Wordlessly, Steve lets Bucky in. With a million grievances and a million more adorations on his tongue, Steve lets Bucky in, silent as he does.

“Hey, Stevie,” says that familiar voice, soft and still just a little bit rough with disuse.

Steve can barely breathe, but somehow, he manages to respond to Thor—to Bucky—to the man he’s been in love with, been obsessed with, for as long as he’s been alive. “_Buck._”

The expression on Bucky’s face breaks Steve’s heart. It makes him feel less like he wants to punch him, if only by degrees.

“Been looking for you,” Steve murmurs, equal parts angry and hurt and relieved. He feels like his chest is about to split open. He feels a perverse sense of relief. He feels both. He feels neither. He feels everything. He feels too much_._ “Been looking for you this whole goddamn time.”

“I know, Stevie. I know,” Bucky starts, worrying at his lip in that old, familiar way that Steve should have _known _was a sign. “I—I’m sorry.”

Steve swallows. He feels on the edge of an asthma attack. “Why—why’d you keep it from me, Buck?”

“I—” Bucky starts, “I’m—I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t ready to come back to yet. I mean, I—I wasn’t really sure whether I knew myself yet, really. Not that that’s an excuse. It’s just—I just—I wasn’t sure. Of myself, of you, of us. Of anything. I—I didn’t know if I was _Bucky, _before this.” 

And that. That makes Steve’s stomach drop. Bucky’s confession brings back memories of a causeway, of a struggle, of a feral Bucky that knew little more than killing. Of Steve willing to die to make him remember.

From the way he looks at Steve, from the way that he furrows those familiar brows, Steve realizes that Bucky is thinking about those hazy, un-remembered days, too.

Bucky sighs. “When I came to New York, I—I didn’t know if I was who you thought I was. I didn’t know if I was just confused, or if I was someone else. Someone occupying a dead guy’s body. But I know now. I know who I am. The mask, the hammer, being—being Thor—it really helped me figure things out.”

He takes a deep breath. It’s shaky. It sounds on the verge of collapse. But Bucky Barnes, strongest person Steve ever knew—strongest person Steve _knows_—carries on. 

“Being Thor helped me figure out who I am—who Bucky Barnes is,” Bucky says, his voice sounding small. “And it helped me figure out how—how I feel about you.” 

Steve swallows. It feels like swallowing the sea.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m so, so sorry. You—you deserve to be mad. You deserve to be hurt. I’d be fuckin’ _furious, _if I were you. You don’t have to forgive me. But if you do, just know that I—” Bucky starts. He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I love you, Steve. And I’m sorry. For everything. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, Steve. Not after—not after I almost killed you. And—I—I promise, I won’t. I won’t hurt you again. Even if it means never speaking to you, even if it means I’m never gonna see you, I never want to hurt you. Never, ever, ever again.”

The silence that falls between them could crush them, that’s how heavy it is. Letting out a long, deep breath, Steve blinks away tears he hadn’t realized began forming. Before he knows it, before he even realizes his body is moving, he’s pulling Bucky into the tightest hug he can manage, burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck. The very _moment _he touches Bucky, Steve’s entire body tingles—with desire, with hope, with joy, with however-many-billion volts of electricity are coursing throughout Bucky’s body, thrumming like thunder under Bucky’s skin.

“I fucking missed you, Buck,” Steve murmurs, breathing in the familiar scent of Bucky’s hair. “I really, really fucking missed you.”

“Missed you more,” Bucky whispers, and from the way his voice breaks when he speaks it, Steve believes it. “And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You’d better fucking be,” Steve says, hugging Bucky tight, so tight that he’ll never, ever lose him again. “Don’t you ever, _ever, _do that again, James Barnes, okay?”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Bucky murmurs, petting Steve’s hair. _That, _they both know, isn’t just the secret identity. It isn’t just the hiding. It’s everything. _Don’t hide your identity from me again. Don’t string me along again. Don’t keep secrets from me again. Don’t disappear on me again. Don’t die without me again. _“I promise.” 

Steve nods, all his bottled-up tears from the last few months finally spilling over, finally finding their way out. He cries, ugly and unflattering, into Bucky’s dirty blond hair, gripping onto Bucky like his life depends on it.

And Bucky—perfect, beautiful, _found _Bucky—just strokes Steve’s hair, murmuring those same soft, kind words that Sarah Rogers always, always repeated, even to her final days.

Eventually, Steve cries himself tired. Bucky presses a kiss on Steve’s head, gentler than Steve ever imagined possible. If he weren’t so cried-out, he would start crying again. Steve’s sure of that. Instead, he just pulls back, smiling at Bucky, and takes a deep breath, ready to ask him the thing he’d been rehearsing in his head ever since he woke up in a hospital room, in the aftermath of Project Insight.

“I—I’ve been waiting to ask you—I mean, _you, _Bucky, not you-Thor—I’ve been wanting to ask you something for a while,” Steve says, trying, and failing, not to let his nerves show through. “So, uh. Will you humor me, pal?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, his voice very, very quiet. “Yeah, Stevie. Anything.”

Steve swallows. It feels unreal, saying it finally, after all this time. After all these years. After a whole goddamn century. But there Bucky is, finally, standing in front of him—albeit, dressed like some sort of John Carter character—in the flesh. There’s no way Steve _can’t _ask him to come home. Not now.

“I’ve missed you, Buck. I’ve missed you a lot,” Steve says, “And I just. I’d like it, if you want, I mean, we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, but. I just. I was hoping that we—no. I mean. If _I. _Not the Avengers. Not S.H.I.E.L.D., but me. If I could finally bring you in from the cold.”

Bucky is silent. His big, blue eyes—glowing soft, soft enough for Steve to really _look _at him—are wide, as if he’s surprised. As if he can’t believe that Steve is offering a home. As if it’s not the most natural thing in the world. 

“Yeah,” is Bucky’s eventual response, quiet as it is earth-shattering. At least, earth-shattering, for Steve. “Yeah. I think—I think I’m ready for that. Finally.”

And, as if overwhelmed by his joy, Steve leans in and kisses Bucky, deep, loving, passionate. It’s their first kiss—or, at least, their first kiss as _Steve and Bucky. _Even more so than their _actual _first kiss, Steve feels electrified, sparks shooting off in his stomach, on his skin, behind his eyes, in all the very best ways. 

**\---**

They don’t have sex, not on that night. But they _do _spend the night together, Steve, resting his head against Bucky’s chest, listening to that heartbeat, its thrumming beat the bass to the melodious roar of outside’s rainstorm. They don’t fuck, no, but they do something just as nice, just as intimate: Steve and Bucky, on that night, on the first night of the rest of their lives, are just _being _with each other. 

“Can I say something?” Steve says, eventually, and he feels like an idiot, when the words come out of his mouth. “Part of me thought I was wrong after I clocked you for _you. _Mostly because you weren’t, you know. Blond.”

Bucky, New Thor, Bucky-_as_-Thor, shakes out his hair. It’s long, longer than it’s ever been before, and all Steve wants to do is run his fingers through it. “Yeah, well. I wouldn’t’ve picked it out, myself. The hammer kinda does what it wants, sometimes.”

“Mm, yeah. That’s what Thor—well. The other Thor, I mean. That’s what he used to say.”

A silence befalls them. Steve traces the familiar freckles dotting Bucky’s chest, the very first indications that Thor, his Thor, had been _his _for a long, long time.

“Can I ask you a question?” Steve asks, half-murmured against Bucky’s skin, buzzing, still, with electric energy.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, “Anything, Stevie.”

“How did you—how did you get wrapped up in, you know,” Steve says. He motions with his head towards Mjolnir, or, at least, as much as he can, without breaking eye contact with Bucky. “_All of this.” _

Bucky shrugs. “I didn’t know what it was. I was headed back to Brooklyn after the Bryant Park incident—”

Steve shifts, sitting up a little bit. “You were there?”

“Of course, I was there,” Bucky says, smiling, bright as the stars, bright as the sun, bright as a flash of lightning, bright as _Bucky. _“Someone had to watch over your stupid ass, you know.”

“Hey, shut up,” Steve says, with no real heat to his words.

“You got _stabbed _Steve!”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I was _lightly stabbed_. I didn’t even need surgery.”

Bucky lets out a sigh, incredulous. “You are—you are unbelievable, Steve.”

“Shut up. We’re here. We’ve fucked_. _We’re good. Continue with your story, Barnes.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “_Anyway. _I was headed back home, cutting through where I could to keep from being seen, and in this alleyway, I see Mjolnir. Sitting right in front of me. just—I picked it up, and all of a sudden—" he makes a vague motion with his hands, something like an explosion. “Boom. This.”

“I think—” Steve starts, knowing he looks like a giant goddamn sap, staring up at Bucky the way he is. He doesn’t care. He loves his guy, loves him more than summer rainstorms and sunny autumns in New York City and all the stars in this universe and the next. “I think Mjolnir chose you.”

Bucky scoffs at that, actually scoffs at that, his expression falling as quickly as quickly as it had turned soft. “I think I was the first idiot to pick the hammer up, is what happened.”

“The first _worthy _idiot,” Steve corrects, and Bucky lets out a small chuckle at that, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “Still think there was some sort of mistake, but it let me kiss you, so I’m not complaining.”

And wasn’t that just Bucky, to remember the romantic shit and completely overlook how he’d so-mercilessly fucked Steve that he’s pretty sure that he’ll be walking funny the rest of his life. Steve can practically cry. “You big fuckin’ sap.”

“Hey now. That’s no way to talk to the _God of Thunder._”

“Yeah, maybe not, but it’s how I’m gonna talk to my big fuckin’ sap of a best friend. Or—you know. Boyfriend. Partner. It’s whichever you prefer.”

Bucky goes silent for a moment. It’s not the first time he’s been at a loss for words, but Steve supposes, after decades of being muzzled and a few months of near-constant chosen silence, he doesn’t blame him. When Bucky speaks, his voice is soft, and his throat sounds dry. Far from the ever-present, room-filling rumble of his Thor-voice, when Bucky next speaks, is it perfectly—imperfectly—human. “Yeah? You mean it?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, with a nod. “Of course, I mean it.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“I—thank you.”

_For waiting for me, for forgiving me, for loving me, _goes unspoken. But Steve can feel it. Like he can feel the buzz of excitement underneath his skin—not because of Mjolnir, not this time—he can feel it.

“Anything, Buck. Anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [obligatory blond seb!!](https://3-8-4.tumblr.com/)
> 
> up next: happily ever afters.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> forgive and forget. we'll make up for all the lost time.

With Bucky finally returned home, finally come in from the cold, more than seventy years and thousands of miles after he first shipped off to Europe, Steve can hardly leave his side. They sleep together. They eat dinners together. They spar together.

And with Bucky continuing to hold on to the title of God of Thunder, they fight together.

And together, they travel to Puente Antiguo, New Mexico.

Together, they find the Odinsion. Together, follow Loki to Thor. 

**\---**

Puente Antiguo is a town of about two-thousand people, nestled deep in the New Mexico desert. There’s a movie theater, a diner, and a small, under-funded hospital. It’s a long, far cry from New York City.

Which makes Loki’s presence in the town all the more palpable.

Steve and Bucky touch down in what looks to be the epicenter of the chaos, the parking lot of Puente Antiguo County Hospital. The scene is intimate, quarters too close for Bucky to rush in swinging. Too close for Steve to manage a well-placed shield to Loki’s knees. Too close, even, for Clint or Natasha, waiting in the wings, to manage a well-placed shot to take him out. They were playing on Loki’s terms, waiting for him to move _just _enough to safely move in. Friendly fire and even the most minimal of casualties were not a possibility. Not here.

Because Loki, standing tall, in full battle uniform, is practically looming over a man much taller than him—a blond, familiar-looking man in a simple button-down and khakis.

_Thor. The Odinson. _

Not in another dimension, not dead, but tucked away in a small desert town, all along. 

“Well, well. When I tossed you off all those months ago, I knew you’d end up somewhere on this miserable planet, but I didn’t realize you’d return _here_,” Loki laughs, his helmet gleaming golden in the New Mexico sun. He cocks his head, frowning a mocking little frown. “Come now, don’t look at me like that. Don’t you recognize me, Thor? Your own brother?”

“Mate, you’ve got the wrong guy. Look, see, Thor is over there,” says Thor, motioning towards Bucky and Steve. His voice is just on calm’s breaking point, his words tinged with an accent that sounds equal parts natural and uncanny on Thor’s voice.

Loki glances over at Steve and Bucky, briefly, before rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to the man in front of him. “Mm, no. I know who I’ve been looking for. And I’ve been looking for you, dear brother.”

Thor takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “I told you before. I’m not Thor. My name is Donald Blake. I’m a nurse at Puente Antiguo County Hospital. I—I moved here when I was twenty-one, I—”

“Come now, we all know that’s not _really _it, is it?” Loki laughs, cutting Thor off. “Think hard, now. Think _really _hard. Aren’t there things that just _don’t make sense?_”

Thor is silent. He almost folds into himself, looking, in that moment, much, much smaller than Loki ever could be. 

“Well, then. Maybe this will remind you,” Loki says, before he lunges forward, grabbing Thor by the throat.

“Donald!” the woman in the car screams. She steps out from behind the driver’s seat, clearly, without a plan.

“Shawna, babe, I need you to get back in the car, okay?” Thor wheezes out, desperate.

“Shawna? _Shawna? _That’s the name of your new lover, brother?” Loki laughs, “How very local of you!” 

“Don’t—” Thor starts, but that doesn’t stop Loki. He tosses Thor aside, and approaches the other side of the car with long, languid strides, sizing up Shawna like a snake about to strike. The moment Loki moves, the moment there is enough distance between him and Thor, Steve and Bucky charge towards the scene. Cutting through the air as quickly as he can, Bucky, sweeps up Shawna, getting her to safety before Loki can even get _close _to laying a hand on her. All the while, Steve clips Loki with his shield, not enough to subdue him, but enough to stop him.

Enough to get him _pissed off. _

For a moment, Loki forgets Thor. Daggers drawn, he lunges at Steve, missing him by a _hair._ “This is not _your city, _Captain. This is not your fight.”

“You made it my fight, Loki,” Steve grits, as Loki lunges again, this time, getting nothing but the shield. 

“You leave me to my brother, or I will ensure that you, your pretend-Thor, and all your allies will suffer until this mud-planet crumbles,” Loki growls, trying his damndest to lead his daggers into Steve’s flesh. “And the first I’ll do is turn this horrible little pile of sand and all its people to glass.”

“Stop!” Thor screams. It’s the only thing, Steve thinks, that could have stopped Loki in his tracks the way it did. All of a sudden, Loki does not care about Steve. All of a sudden, Loki has more important things on his mind.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Thor says. “I’m Thor. I—I’m this—this _god _that you say I am. I’m Thor. And I’ll go with you. I’ll flight you. I’ll do whatever you want. Just—just swear that you will leave Puente Antiguo safe, okay?”

Loki sizes his brother up, daggers still gleaming sharp in his hands. Thor, though, does not break Loki’s gaze. Even without his memory of godhood, even without the hammer, Thor manages to look Loki in the eye, unblinking. Unyielding. 

“_Please,” _Thor says, voice barely a whisper. 

The way Thor’s voice breaks—fragile, vulnerable, _human_—seems to break something in Loki, too. All of a sudden, the weight of the situation seems to dawn on Loki. As he looks at his brother, Loki, all of a sudden, seems to realize just how much he is hurting him. 

“This—” Loki starts, looking grim. For the first time he’s ever encountered him, Steve feels _sorry _for Loki. Harbinger of chaos and menace that he might be, Loki—from what Steve can tell—genuinely loves his brother. Underneath the continual attempted murder, Loki genuinely cares about Thor.

Perhaps these sorts of stunts are Loki’s way of getting Thor to pay attention to him. Perhaps these sorts of stunts are just the way that gods, all-powerful and ever-bored, pass the time. Whatever it is, Steve recognizes the look on Loki’s face. It’s the look of a man crushed by the realization that this stunt, the actions he’s taking, the consequences they will have, and the people he will hurt, are all a step too far, this time. The expression on Loki’s face is one of deep, _human _regret.

And Steve can’t help but feel sorry for that. As much as Loki has turned his life on its head, in the aftermath of his actions. 

Loki swallows, exhaling a long, long breath before he speaks. Steve recognizes that, too. He recognizes it because he knows he does it himself. It’s the telltale expression of a very, very stubborn man having to swallow his pride and admit he’s done wrong.

“This game of ours has grown dull, brother. Let us—let us end it, and make it no more.”

Thor, still failing to understand a single thing happening before him, continues to stare at Loki, eyes wide and panicked.

“I release your memories back to you, Thor Odinson. Prince of Asgard,” Loki says, his voice soft. Heavy.

And in a flash, Donald Blake is gone. In his place, a man of the same height, the same build, the same body, stands. In his place is Thor, the righteous, original, God of Thunder. 

“Donald—?”

The woman with Thor before, Shawna, approaches him, carefully. Bucky follows, sympathy clear on his face. They all know how this is going to go. Even Shawna.

That doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking for any of them. 

“Doctor Shawna Lynde,” Thor says, sounding tender, fond. “You offered me a love of which I am undeserving. I will always remember your kindness. Even if we cannot be together—know that my love for you was always, and will always be, genuine.”

“I—” Doctor Lynde says. For her part, she is taking the breakup well. Or, as well as one _can _take a supernatural breakup, anyway. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

Thor looks at her with kindness, with gentleness. Centuries’ worth of memories have been restored to him. Centuries’ worth of heartbreak, of losses, of relationships at their end. And yet, when he speaks, the sympathy he carries for her is deep enough for it to almost, _almost _seem like his first goodbye. 

“Then you don’t have to say a thing,” he says, voice soft, earnest. With that, he pulls her into a kiss, one that she leans into, gratefully. It makes Steve think about his first kiss with Bucky. It makes Steve ever the more grateful when Bucky quietly makes his way over to Steve’s side, lacing their fingers together tightly, as if to remind Steve, _end of the line. _

When the pull apart, Shawna looks near tears, but she also looks at peace. “Guess—guess I get to keep the dog, huh?”

Thor laughs. “Yes. Yes, you do.”

She nods, dabbing at her eyes, but smiling, nonetheless. As she makes her way back to her car, she keeps glancing over at Thor, as if, maybe, against all odds, Donald Blake will reappear once again.

“Goodbye, Thor,” Doctor Lynde says.

“Goodbye, Shawna,” Thor says. “Take care of Loki the Dog. And tell him that he has always been the most good of boys.” 

She nods, a promise. And with that, she’s gone, driving off into the darkening desert, into a life that Steve nor Bucky nor Loki nor Thor could ever know.

“Let’s go home then, brother,” Thor says, glancing at Loki. Steve won’t move to restrain him. And when S.H.I.E.L.D. asks for a report, he’ll say that Thor took him into custody on Asgard. It’s not _untrue, _after all.

“Hey, um. Before you do. This—” Bucky says, cutting in. He’s still in full Bucky-Thor armor, his hair still that interesting dirty-blond color that Mjolnir picked out for him. As he slips the leather strap off his wrist and hands it, gently, to Thor, Steve realizes that it will be the last time that he sees that particular version of Bucky, the last time he ses that particular version of Thor. Like Shawna, he smiles, even as he blinks back tears. “This is yours.”

As Thor takes the hammer, Bucky’s Thor-armor disappears, fizzing away like firecrackers, like sparks, leaving him in black tac pants and a tight, plain black t-shirt, his hair that same chestnut brown that Steve fell in love with nearly a century ago. With that return, with that transference, Bucky’s term as the God of Thunder, short-lived though it was, officially comes to an end. Bucky shifts uncomfortably as Thor holds Mjolnir in his hand, judging its weight, his expression unreadable, but not unkind.

“She says you were one of the most-worthy to wield her,” is what Thor says, eventually. “And you are welcome to wield her again in your hour of need.”

Bucky nods, tears welling up in those big, blue eyes of his—no longer glowing with electric energy, but bright as daylight all the same. Bucky, who spent so long stripped of himself, Bucky, who’s spent nearly a century ruminating on his goodness or lack thereof, is, without a doubt, one of the _most-worthy people. _

“Thank you,” he says, “I—uh. I’m really worthy, huh?”

“Well, Buck,” Steve says, his voice gentle and doting as he kisses Bucky, ever-so-gently. “I could’ve told you that.”

**\---**

When Steve and Bucky return home, it’s raining again. For the first time in a long time, Steve is sure that Bucky has nothing to do with it.

“You know, I gotta say—” Steve says, as soon as they’re in his—_their_—apartment. “I think I’m going to miss you blond.”

“Well, you can go ahead and miss it. Mjolnir gave me that dye job, and I’m not going to try to recreate it,” Bucky says, running a hand through his thick, brown locks. 

Steve laughs, and he pulls Bucky into a kiss, practically-unprompted but not unwanted, all the same. Bucky tastes electric, even without the powers of Thor at his fingertips. Steve just can’t help it when he gets a little handsy, when his fingers find their way underneath that tight, tight tac shirt. 

“Mm. Well. Mjolnir didn’t give you _these, _did she?” he teases, cupping the swell of Bucky’s pecs and giving one a nice little _squeeze. _

Bucky makes a little noise, low and dangerous. It sends a spark through Steve. “Nah. That’s all me. Me and the serum.”

“Mm,” Steve hums, looking at Bucky through long, dark lashes as he gropes Bucky’s pec once more, this time, grazing his thumb along Bucky’s nipple, gently, gently.

“Why? You curious about _what else _I can do damn-fine on my own, without Mjolnir?” Bucky asks, and the question is loaded, but the challenge it is loaded with is not about Mjolnir. Not in the least. “If you’re curious, then, well—why don’t I show you? 

“Yeah, yeah, I think you should, Barnes,” Steve teases, shooting Bucky a sly little grin. He would _love it _if Bucky could show him just what he could do. _God, _would he love nothing more than that. “Show me what you’re capable of.”

Bucky sizes Steve up, his big, blue eyes somehow even more-intense than when he was granted all the mighty powers of Thor. Underneath his gaze, Steve feels his body burn. He could crumble under Bucky’s powerful gaze—which is why, when Bucky scoops him up, quickly, effortlessly, Steve revels in that full-body _rush _it gives him.

“Wow,” is all he says, when Bucky lays him down on the bed, ever-so-gently. He almost says something about it, something clever and crass and a little bit curt, but Steve forgets everything that was on his mind when Bucky pulls that tight, black tac shirt off, revealing that broad, familiar chest, freckles and all.

It’s something to see that chest on Bucky when he’s adopted the mantle of Thor. It’s completely different when Bucky is _Bucky, _all broad shoulders and thick chest and powerful thighs all on his own.

“_Wow,_” Steve echoes, and Bucky laughs, and makes quick work of stripping Steve down to the skin. Laid bare in front of Bucky, in front of the only man he’s ever, ever had a real _crush _on, Steve feels raw, exposed, _seen, _in ways that he hasn’t felt before. It’s not a bad thing—no. Not at all. In fact, it makes that warm ache of _want _burn even brighter, even hotter, pooling hot and heavy in his stomach.

“You wanna finger yourself again for me, baby?” Bucky asks, undoing the fly on his tac pants. Steve swallows, watching him, rapt. “That was the hottest goddamn thing I’d ever seen.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, shifting, hitching his hips up _just so. _He grabs the bottle of lube, this time, moving slow, letting big, shiny globs of lube drip down his fingers as he slowly, delicately, edges himself. “You mean, like this?” 

The slow, ragged breath that Bucky makes Steve’s cock twitch. As slow as he wants to go, as much as he wants to tease Bucky, to torture him, after seventy-something years of waiting, Steve is tired of being patient. Before Bucky even has his cock out, Steve starts fingering himself, watching Bucky with desperation, with _want. _

“God, are you gorgeous, baby,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve nearly hits him back with a _no, you. _He would, if Bucky hadn’t pulled off his boxer briefs, freeing his huge, hard cock—still, even without Mjolnir’s influence, the biggest, most-beautiful cock that Steve has ever, ever seen.

Steve wants to say _no, you. _Steve wants to say _please, Buck, please. _But he doesn’t say anything. Because upon seeing Bucky’s cock, upon seeing Bucky lubing that big, pretty cock of his, Steve finds his throat go completely dry.

“Ready, Stevie?” Bucky asks, one hand planted firm on Steve’s hip, the other doing the much, much more important job of steadying Bucky’s cock, helping guide it into Steve. With a quick little nod and an affirmative little noise, Steve readies himself for Bucky, his breathing slow, hitched, as Bucky pushes that big, big cock of his into Steve, slow, steady, _overwhelming. _

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, nearly crying as he bottoms out. Bucky feels so _good _inside him, thrusting slow, gentle, careful—just enough to keep Steve on edge, just enough to keep Steve wanting more, more, _more. _

“_Fuck,” _Bucky echoes, his voice low, and Steve can barely look at him. Bucky is perfect on top of him, broad linebacker shoulders and lips like sin and a cock that fills Steve up so, so fucking _good. _As Bucky thrusts into Steve, building momentum, slowly, slowly, _far too slowly, _Steve knows that Bucky is not blessed with Mjolnir’s powers, not anymore, but he still feels like he’s looking at something holy, looking at an incarnation of some ancient god. “Fuck, baby, you’re so goddamn tight—feel so fucking good, Stevie—so fucking good—”

“More, please, please, _more,_” Steve moans, and Bucky obliges, his thrusts getting quicker, more erratic, deeper. It sets off sparks in Steve’s stomach, and he feels himself slipping closer and closer to the edge, closer and closer to release.

Soon, Bucky is railing Steve, gripping onto his hips like a lifeline. As he hits that perfect little spot, Steve jerks like a live wire, _fuck fuck fuck yes, please, right there, right there, _spilling out of his mouth like they’re the only words Steve knows. Bucky, too, is lost for words, growling _yeah, baby, baby, so good to me, baby _as he fucks Steve raw, senseless.

“M’close,” Steve manages, “Fuck—fuck, Bucky, I’m so close.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky says, his broad chest heaving and beaded with sweat. His right hand slips around Steve’s cock, and he begins to stroke in time with his thrusts, leading Steve right to the edge, right where his body—a tight coil, a band ready to snap—is overloaded, every damn sense of him overwhelmed with _Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. _“Come on, Stevie. Come for me. Come for me, baby.”

And that, the growled _baby _in Steve’s ear, is enough. It’s enough to send him careening, enough to make Steve entirely undone. He clenches around Bucky, knees trembling, and he comes, falling into that drop, into that sweet, sudden release. A final few rough, ragged thrusts, and Bucky comes, too, hot and whole and so, so fucking _good. _It’s good enough for Steve to see not just stars, but whole goddamn galaxies behind his eyes.

“Christ,” Bucky breathes, pulling out of Steve, leaving him glowing and spent in the dim light of their apartment. There would be no blackouts that evening in Brooklyn. At least, none outside of the Rogers-Barnes residence, anyway. “Christ, Stevie. I love you so, _so _fucking much.”

Steve can hardly string together two words, he’s so _lost _in that warm, blissful afterglow of Bucky fucking him ragged and raw. No, Steve can’t reciprocate Bucky’s _I love you, _not in the moment. But he _does _manage to pull Bucky into a kiss, deep and soulful and just about as earnest as Bucky’s _I love you, _without those exact words.

**\---**

It isn’t quite clear, to Steve, how long they spend in bed, basking in the afterglow of their first _real _fuck, not as Steve and Bucky-Thor, but as Steve and Bucky, open and honest and true. As the late-autumn rains patter on the windowpanes, Steve basks in Bucky’s warmth, in his familiar scent, in the comfortable, safe feeling of _home _that Bucky carries in his bones.

Eventually, Steve manages words again, murmured against Bucky’s chest as he traces those familiar constellations of freckles across warm, sweat-sweet skin.

“Now, Mjolnir didn’t teach you _that, _did she?” Steve jokes. Bucky just huffs out a chagrined little laugh, shaking his head.

“Steve, you gotta give me more credit, pal,” Bucky says, running his fingers, fondly, through Steve’s hair. Like a cat, Steve leans into that touch, struggling to keep his head on Bucky’s chest _and _angle himself to get more of that touch.

“I _am_ giving you credit,” Steve says, with no heat in his words. Not at all. “That was an amazing fuck. Better than the other one, even. Maybe.”

“Yeah, well, I accidentally caused a blackout that hit about a third of Brooklyn, so—I’d say yeah, this time was better than the last,” says Bucky, and if Steve didn’t know any better, he would think that Bucky is blushing.

“Hey, give yourself some credit, Barnes. That was real hot, you know,” Steve says, with an impish little grin. He’s only half-joking. He’s _sure _Bucky knows that, too. “Next time Thor comes back from Asgard, we should, you know. We should try it again. Hell, it’ll get people off their phones, which, you know. I _guess _is a problem.” 

“You’re unbelievable,” Bucky says, and yep. He’s blushing. “Punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve says, his smile turning less mischievous and more loving, full of honest adoration. 

As Steve looks up at Bucky, the only man who he’s ever had feelings for, the only man he’s ever searched for, the only man he’s ever almost _died _for, he’s struck by how easily godhood came to Bucky, not because it’s surprising, but because, to Steve, it’s absolutely clear as day. Looking up at Bucky, lit up only by the lights of city, filtered in through rain-speckled glass, Steve feels like he is worshipping at Bucky’s altar, like he is a willing sacrifice for a benevolent entity, like he is Bucky’s oracle, there to bring his word to the world. 

“Buck?” Steve says, soft. Nearly inaudible against the rain. 

Bucky responds in kind, just as soft. Just as lost in Steve as Steve is in him. “Yeah?”

“I love you, Buck,” Steve says, a confession. A prayer. A litany, the holiest of them all. 

“I love you too, Stevie,” says Bucky. “I love you, too.”

And that fact, that simple truth, Steve knew, was a constant. Of all the unknowns in the universe, of all the unknowns yet to be, there was one thing that Steve could orient himself around: that Bucky Barnes, no matter who he happened to be—James Barnes, Sergeant Barnes, Prisoner 32557038, the Winter Soldier, the God of Thunder—would always be, once and forever, the love of Steve’s long, long life. And no matter who Bucky would be, no matter what title he would carry, he and Steve would love each other, would fall for each other, no matter how many times they had to. No matter how many times they _got _to. 

Like lightning striking twice, again, and again, and again, and again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap on this fic!! a few final things: 
> 
> \- thank you again to my fantastic partners in this project, [sami](https://twitter.com/samikelsh) and [felix](https://twitter.com/2jarsofsmth). [here is a link to sami's post for this art on tumblr](https://whatthefoucault.tumblr.com/post/189090299431/look-mate-youve-got-the-wrong-guy-says-thor), and i very, very much suggest checking out her and felix's other work!! for real, they are both so talented, and i seriously could not have gotten where i got in this project without their incredible support, patience, care, and time. i cherish this time we spent working together. i really, really do.  
\- thank you again as well to my fantastic beta readers, [em](https://twitter.com/softestbuck) and [scarlett](https://twitter.com/thepinupchemist). reading is rereading and writing is rewriting, and without people who do that work of reading with fresh eyes, this fic would've been a clown car. so, again, thank you.  
\- i've had this idea for a while, maybe around the time that the first "bucky can wield mjolnir" fics were coming out? with that said, the inspiration for this fic came from [this concept art of thor](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EJevmBmU0AAedJD?format=jpg&name=small). the arm really made me think of bucky, and so, of course, i had to AU this fic except with bucky.  
\- (that, and of course, i know for a fact that bucky barnes is Worthy, i will fight you on that)  
\- it was important to me that the mask be gunmetal-black and echo the muzzle, while, at the same time, simultaneously being fundamentally incompatible with the muzzle. as a result, the shape of the mask echoes both russell dauterman's [mask design for jane foster!thor](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EJevmBnVAAAzAo-?format=jpg&name=medium), and [orville peck's iconic mask](https://www.loudandquiet.com/files/2019/02/orville-peck-gordon-nicolas-150219-1-1280x1600.jpg).  
\- i am also indebted to jason aaron's thor series, for really fleshing out the idea of mjolnir picking a person to take on the title of thor.  
\- [shawna lynde](https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Shawna_Lynde_\(Earth-616\)) was one of the love interests of thor. she's in the MCU, but as a cameo, and unfortunately, she's not much more of a cameo here, but. more fleshed-out than in the MCU, i think. 
> 
> anyway, thank you, everyone, for taking the time to read through this big, self-indulgent fic. please follow sami and felix, and you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/aka_spacedog) or [tumblr](https://softpunkbucky.tumblr.com/).
> 
> and for all of you who also took the time to work on the 2019 captain america big bang, congratulations for making it through!! until next year. <3


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